That Place In the Middle
by Madness-Incarnate
Summary: Frustrated with his lack of knowledge about his birth, Sam Oliver decides to embark on a mission to find the truth. This search takes him to a very bad place. Crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the fandoms written about below. They belong to their respective owners. Please do not sue me, thanks.

Summary: Frustrated with his lack of knowledge about his birth, Sam Oliver decides to embark on a mission to find the truth. This search takes him to a very bad place. Crossover.

A/N: This is my first fan fiction. I welcome all criticism, even flames.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil

Sam Oliver was exhausted. He had worked a double that day and had gotten very little sleep the night before. It was hard to sleep though, when so much passed through his mind constantly. It had only been a month since his father had died and a cruel and disgusting possibility had been presented to him. There was a chance that the devil was his true father, that the Dark Prince had sired him for some unknown reason. Still, this was only a possibility and therein laid the crux of his problem.

He had just gotten dressed in his sleep wear after a quick shower, intending to go straight to bed. Something kept him from rest though, some intangible ghost of worry haunting his tired mind. Walking past the bed, he sat down at his desk, logging on to the computer. Sam thought back to the time his dad first told him of the deal his parents made with the devil, how their doctor was made to lie to them. His dad called him Dr. Burke, a name which had meant little to Sam at the time. Now, it could be the key to unraveling the secrets kept about his birth.

His mother had been written off weeks ago as a source of information; she refused to discuss the subject whatsoever. On top of that, she had been acting a little cold and distanced towards him since that fateful night. No, he had to look elsewhere for the knowledge he sought, something which he had decided he needed to do on his own. Sock and Ben were great friends, incredible even, but this was his issue and his alone.

A peek at his birth certificate had confirmed that his doctor was a man named Michael Burke. The name of the hospital and the town it was in were illegible due to the worn nature of the paper, but it did show him that it was in West Virginia. He typed in his search parameters to track this doctor down online, hoping that there was some information about the man on the internet. His search yielded a whole slew of unrelated links and a few slight leads. With just a sliver of hope in his heart, he clicked on the first of these links.

* * *

The alarm clock came alive, breaking him from his slumber. He shot up in shock, clueless to his location. It took a few seconds for him to realize that he had fallen asleep at his desk, searching well into the night for clues to his past. His search had given him nothing more than an address, not even a phone number. It was in a town called Ashfield in West Virginia; apparently the good doctor had retired from practicing medicine but not from life. He was going to go there and talk to this man, to see if he had anything to tell him about the circumstances of his birth. It didn't seem like there was much more that he could do. Now all he had to do was get the time off from work to go on this trip.

Sam stood up from his computer chair and stretched his aching bones, feeling his vertebrae pop and crack as he did so. It was time to start his day. Fortunately, he didn't have to go into work for another four hours, giving him time to relax a little beforehand. It was nice to have some time off from his other job, the bad one that he had been drafted into by Satan. He did like some aspects of the job, like helping people and feeling responsible, but it came with so much danger and darkness that it sometimes overwhelmed him. But he had his friends to assist him and his beautiful girlfriend, so it was manageable. Still, it was very nice to have the time off, especially considering that he didn't get paid for it.

He exited his room and padded down the hall to the living room, seeing both Ben and Sock sitting on the couch, eating cereal. "Morning," he said with as much energy as he could muster together.

"Morning yourself," replied Sock, "You look like crap by the way."

"Thanks. Nice to hear that."

"He does have a point, Sam. You look like you didn't get any sleep last night," said Ben, between mouthfuls of cereal.

"I got _some _sleep," he said defensively. "I was just looking something up online and it took awhile is all."

"What, like porn?" asked Sock, looking a little interested.

"Not porn you perv. I was looking up the address of my parents' doctor." With that, he walked into the kitchenette, intending on getting something to eat.

This got the full attention of both Sock and Ben. "What are you going to do with that," asked Ben, a concerned look on his face.

"I want to know what happened, how it all went down. I'm tired of not knowing the truth about it." He didn't look to see their reactions to this, concentrating on fixing himself a bowl of cereal.

"Sam, I don't know. Didn't your dad say that it would be bad if you learned the truth?" asked Sock, his voice thick with trepidation.

"It's already bad, Sock. At least this way, I know why." Sam turned back to his food plunking a spoon into the bowl and grabbing it. He walked back into the living room, sitting down next to them on the couch.

"Sock's got a point, Sam. It could be very bad. What if the truth is more than you can handle. I mean you've been dealing with issues that we, as humans, understand very little about." Ben highlighted his point with a thrust of his spoon in Sam's direction.

"What could be worse than finding out my father's the devil? And that's something I've already braced myself for."

"So where does this guy live, anyway?" asked Sock around a mouthful of half-chewed Fruit Loops.

"Somewhere in West Virginia," he replied, just before taking a bite of food himself.

"Dude, Sammy that's all the way across the freakin' country. We can't all take the time off from work to go there, even if the thought of a road trip sounds really cool." Sock took another bite of cereal when he was done.

This was the part he was really dreading, telling them this. "Not 'we' Sock. I'm going alone on this one." Sam braced himself for the fallout to come at this statement.

"That is the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard come from your mouth, Sam," said Sock, looking shockingly pissed.

The expression on Ben's face didn't look that much better. He seemed close to yelling from what Sam could tell. "Sock's right. I can't believe you're considering this. Why don't you want us to go?"

Oh the dreaded explanation, at last. "It's hard to explain, he said," drawing his words out in the hope that it would somehow give them more value. "This is just something that I have to do on my own. Please, just understand that." _Well, here goes, _he thought, awaiting their response.

"Sammy, it could be dangerous. You need us to watch your back," said Sock, his look of anger turning into one of concern. It was terrible to see that look on his friend's face, especially considering that it was due to him, but he couldn't let himself be weak on this matter.

"That's no explanation. You're gonna have to do a whole hell of a lot better than that, to convince us," stated Ben, a look of clear challenge on his face.

"Listen. This is a personal matter. I can't give you anything better than that, I'm sorry," he replied, feeling more tired than he did when he first woke up.

"What's the matter, Sam? Don't you trust us?" asked Sock, his voice raising a couple of decibels.

"It's not that I don't trust you, not at all. Because I do trust you, both of you. But I need to do this alone. I need you to _trust _me." _There, _he thought, _I officially __**deserve **__to go to hell now._

It was awhile before one of them responded to what he had said. It was Ben who first spoke. "I sure hope you know what you're doing, Sam."

He looked down into his bowl of -now soggy- cereal, contemplating his plan. "Yeah, Ben," he said quietly, "me too."

* * *

It was bright and hot out when he got to the Work Bench, the Sun spreading its merciless light across the parking lot. The three of them were walking into work together on this day, all bearing the same shift. No one spoke to one another, there had been a steady silence going on within the trio since the conversation that morning. It was awkward and heavy, a thoroughly uncomfortable experience as far as Sam was concerned. Ben and Sock kept sneaking glances at him when they thought he wasn't looking, worry weighing down on their expressions each time.

Once inside, they proceeded to drag their feet all the way until they actually got to the point of having to do work. Ted was MIA at the moment, a fact that could change at any minute. The man was sneaky and had a predilection toward catching his employees by surprise, a trait that annoyed Sam to no end. He didn't hold a candle to the devil in that arena though, that was for certain. He shook his thoughts away, bracing himself for the conversation that was to come. He had to tell Andi his intention to travel clear across the country to look up a doctor who he had never really met before (if you don't count being birthed by the man as having met him, that is). _This could get ugly, _he thought grimly.

He could see her on the far side of the aisle he was in, pricing items. Sam began his walk over to her, wishing for the best but expecting the worst. She noticed him approaching after he got about halfway there, smiling beautifully at him. In that instant, he felt his resolve weaken a little. How could he leave her abruptly like this with the barest of explanations, even if it was only for a couple weeks? Noticing his somber expression, the smile faded from her face a little and he felt a little like a bastard for it.

"Hi Sam, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Hi Andi, you look gorgeous today," he said, trying to grease the wheels a little.

"Thank you, Sam. Now, please answer my question." Apparently all the grease in the world wasn't going to make this go any easier. She waited patiently for him to respond.

"We need to talk. I have something I need to tell you."

"Okay, what is it?" she asked, concern and curiosity warring for control of her features.

"Not here. Let's go somewhere a little more private. It's kinda important." He gestured for her to follow him to the break room. Together, they walked in silence, making him think back to his friends and the silence that had befallen them after he had this same conversation with them hours ago. He really didn't want that to happen with his girlfriend, the thought alone made him feel lonely and isolated. He really hoped that she would be understanding, he wasn't really sure what he would do if she wasn't. Sam pushed those thoughts aside, holding the door open to allow her in ahead of him.

The break room was empty at the moment, something he was eternally grateful for. They couldn't have this conversation with other people around. They had too many sensitive things to say, for others to listen in on. It was bad enough that he was going to have to lie to her about some of it, seeing as how he decided not to tell her about the devil possibly being his father. It was going to be tricky as it was, without eavesdroppers. Although the only one he was really worried about was Sock. It would be just like him to listen in on his private talks with his girlfriend, after all. They both sat down at a table, facing each other.

"What's going on, Sam, please tell me?" She looked at him, an unreadable expression painting her face.

"Andi, you know how my dad died?" At the nod of her head, he continued. "Well, he left behind a lot of unanswered questions about the particulars of the deal he made with the devil. There are a few things that I need to clear up, things related to my birth. You see, I found the address of the doctor who my parents were seeing at the time and I feel I need to go talk to this man and I couldn't find a phone number for him listed anywhere, so I need to go see him in person." There, the brunt of it was out in the open.

"Well, you should go talk to him then. Where does he live?"

"Well, that's the thing Andi, what I really needed to talk to you about. You see, he lives in West Virginia." Sam had to resist closing his eyes, in preparation for her response.

"Wow, Sam, you want to go clear across the country and talk to same stranger about a few questions you have?" Andi didn't seem angry, nor did she seem happy about this. It was hard to tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing though.

"When you put it that way, I admit that it sounds dumb, but I can't help but feel that I need to go do this. But I don't think I would go if you don't want me to." He had laid it all out on the table; now it was Andi's turn to lay it all out in return.

"Sam, if this is something that you feel you must do, then I won't stand in your way. Just promise me that you won't do anything stupid while you're gone, okay?"

Relief poured into him like a breaking dam, he had permission from the one person he really felt he needed permission from. "I make no promises on that one," he said with a stupid grin on his face, clearly telling her he was just kidding.

She laughed in response to this, saying, "at least call me to check in every night. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," he replied, leaning in to kiss her.

It felt like a huge burden had been lifted from him, now that he had gotten that out of the way. Now, he only needed to get the time off from work.

* * *

Speaking to Ted about getting time off went much easier than he expected. Apparently his boss could tell how important this was to him. He had looked Sam in the eye, and with greater intuition than Sam had ever credited him, had realized that he needed this. It didn't hurt that he hadn't taken a whole lot of time off in the past couple of years either. It wasn't that Sam was such a dedicated worker, as it was that he never had a lot of reasons to take so much time off before.

After work, he bought a road map and a gas can, before going home. He left in a week and he had many preparations to make. He was beginning to get a little excited at the prospect of leaving. Finally, he felt he was making great strides in learning the truth, and he felt very good about that. His thoughts briefly turned to the devil; he wondered at the possibility that Satan would try to put a stop to his plan. He had no doubts that the devil knew exactly what he was up to, but somehow he didn't think that it would be an issue.

Regardless, tonight he had to make peace with his friends, who had secured alternate transportation for their ride home. That had left him feeling a little hurt; was his decision to go alone really that bad? Oh well, he was fairly confident that they would come around in time. He just had to make them see that this decision was not made lightly and that he had given it serious thought. Well, that could work on Ben, but Sock was unpredictable. There was no telling what he would do to stop Sam, if it came down to it. He just needed to be cautious about this and not let his guard down.

Sam eventually pulled into the parking garage, parking his car in his spot. Being in the garage made him think of Tony and the time when he still lived here, as well. Maybe he could talk to him, see what he thought of it all. Having thought it, Sam decided that it was a good idea and resolved to speak with him as soon as possible. With that, he took his keys out of the ignition and got out of the car.

In the apartment, Sock and Ben were playing video games, a bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table in front of them. They barely looked over at him before turning back to their game. He waited for one of them to say something to him, _anything, _but they didn't utter a single word in his direction.

"Come on, guys," he said, "don't you think you're overreacting a little?" Sam looked at them expectantly.

"No, Sam," replied Sock, "You wanna go on this super cool, possibly dangerous, mission all alone. This could be the coolest thing we ever do and you wanna fly solo?" He said all this without once looking away from the game. "What are we not good enough for you, anymore?"

"No Sock, that isn't it at all. It's very personal for me and I just need to do this by myself." Sam walked over to the fridge, pulling a beer out for himself.

"Yeah, you keep saying that, Sam, but it isn't a reason," added Ben, dealing himself into the conversation. "It's like the exact opposite of a reason."

"You tell him, Benji," said Sock, still not looking up from the game.

Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his head in frustration. "Look, I appreciate what you guys are saying, that you're looking out for me. But, this is my deal and I gotta do this alone. I've already made my decision, I'm gonna do this."

He got no response to this.

* * *

Sam had been waiting as patiently as he could all week long, but it wasn't easy. The closer he got to his leave date, the harder it got to concentrate. All he could think about was his impending mission. He was just days away from learning the truth, he just knew it. There was a lot that needed to be done first, before he left. His car needed to be taken into the mechanic, he needed to map out his route, and get his provisions together. All that and work kept him pretty busy, which he needed so desperately to be busy, or he would have gone mad.

Eventually, the big day came and his girlfriend and his friends were there to see him off. Sock and Ben had gotten over their issues with him going out alone, but only reluctantly. His talk with Tony went well and he came away from it with some good road trip tips. The Prius was in good shape and loaded down with his supplies.

They were all standing around his car in the parking garage of his apartment building. Sock, Ben, and Andi were giving him a little send off. "Thanks guys," he said, "I'll only be gone for a couple weeks."

"We know, Sam, we just want you to stay safe," said Ben. "Watch your back, okay?"

"I will, I promise. Now I gotta get going, guys. I'll call you tonight." He shook hands with them, before turning to Andi. He smiled at her and pulled her into his arms. "I love you, Andi. I will definitely make sure to call you constantly." With that, he kissed her deeply and passionately. They broke apart and he looked her in the eyes, his hands gripping her forearms lightly.

"Love you, too. And you better call me, mister. I swear, I will hunt you down if you don't." she leaned forward and kissed him again.

"Have no worries, any of you. I promise I'll stay in touch. I swear. Now, I gotta get going if I wanna make decent distance today." He let go of Andi and waved goodbye to everyone.

"Bye, Sam. We'll miss you." This was from Sock, who had stayed uncharacteristically silent throughout the farewells.

"Yeah, I'll miss you, too." Sam opened his car door and got in. He waved one last goodbye to them and drove off to his destination.

* * *

The trip Eastward had ended up taking a total of over four days to get to Ashton. It had been a hard drive, with very little rest. He stayed on the road as much as possible, trying to make good time. He slept for four hour periods in his car at rest areas, along the way. He learned that, while the prius was good at conserving gas, it wasn't very comfortable to go on a road trip in. The cramped confines of the car were beginning to take their toll on him. His body was so sore, he didn't think he would ever be able to relax again.

The scenery rolled by without much attention being paid to it from him; his mind was completely on his goal. What was this Dr. Burke going to be like? Would he welcome him in, or slam the door shut in his face. Sam wouldn't entirely blame him if he did, the devil tended to have that effect on people. But he couldn't let himself walk away empty-handed, he was going way too far to allow that to happen. He needed a plan, but couldn't think of anything beyond knocking on the guy's door and introducing himself.

After his long exhausting drive, he finally rolled into the town of Ashfield. It was a little bigger than he was expecting. In his mind's eye, it was going to be a sleepy little hamlet. There would be one bar in town and a smattering of little houses, with a few businesses slipped in here and there. In reality, it was a bustling city, with (according to the city limits sign) over eighty-thousand residents. He should've put more time into looking up the directions to the doctor's house, but there was nothing to do about it now.

It was after eight pm when he got into town and he didn't feel up to trolling the streets of some city he had never been to before. Sam decided that he would get a motel room for the night and tackle the search in the morning. So with that, he kept his eyes peeled for a motel to stop at. It would be nice, he decided, to be able to sleep in an actual bed and take a shower before he went to talk to this guy.

Sam pulled into the first motel he came across. It was one-story and L-shaped, with the office located in the shorter wing. While it didn't look like much, it didn't look like one of those pay-by-the-hour shit holes he had seen every time he went to Tacoma. After checking in and getting his key, he pulled in front of his room and grabbed his luggage.

The room was bare, with just a few boring pictures on the wall. The bed was neat and its bedding folded crisply over it. The carpet was threadbare and stained by something in places that he didn't want to dwell too deeply on. Other than that, it looked very inviting. He spared one more glance at the bed that was calling out to him and went straight to the bathroom. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped inside the shower and turned the water on.

He stayed under the spray of the shower head for what seemed like forever, letting the hot water wash away the days of being on the road. His muscles still ached from being stuffed into the cramped space of the car, but he did feel much better, regardless. He allowed himself another five minutes before he got out.

After toweling off, he wrapped it around his waist and left the bathroom. Sam grabbed his pajama pants from his bag and slipped them on. He picked up the list of takeout numbers from the nightstand and ordered a pizza. When he hung up, he called Andi and the guys and checked in. He stayed up long enough to eat dinner and then turned in for the night.

* * *

The next morning, he got dressed and found a nearby diner to have breakfast. He decided that he would try to get some directions from the locals within. If that didn't pan out, he would have to resort to the local library, which wouldn't be all that bad but he just wanted to get the information and move on. His patience had begun to wear very thin, considering that he was **here **now and just wanted to get this over with.

The diner was packed with what could only be described as the usuals. _A wretched hive of scum and villainy, _he thought. Old and crinkled faces stared back at him dispassionately, faces worn by time and labor. These were the people industry was based off of, these lost souls. Sam shook these indulgent thoughts aside and took a seat at the bar. The waitress, a frumpy misshaped woman in her middle ages with wiry red hair, took his order with the amount of interest typically reserved for work at the DMV. Now that the thought had entered his mind, he was struck by how much she resembled Gladys.

As he ate his pancakes, he managed to get the directions to Dr. Burke's address from one of the more friendly locals. He paid his check, tipping the waitress, and said his goodbyes. The sky was overcast and an unnatural chill had settled down over the area. He was glad that he had thought to take his jacket with him. It looked like rain was a very real possibility; it was only a matter of time before it started to fall.

It appeared that the address was located somewhere in the hills just outside the city limits. He followed the directions he had been given to the best of his abilities, but it still took a few hours to find the place. On top of that, it turned out that no one was home. Frustrated, he left with the intention of returning later. At least, he knew where to go now. All he had to do was find something to occupy his time until then.

Sam spared one last look at the house. It was large, but not too expansive. The place was in need of some repair by the look of things. Paint was peeling in places and some of it's old-fashioned shutters were hanging precariously at varying angles from their hinges. The roof sagged inward in places, giving it the appearance of destitution. He turned away and walked back to his car. His mind working on how he would spend his time until he returned, he got in and drove away.

* * *

He ended up watching a movie, although he found it difficult to concentrate on it with all that was going through his mind. Much of the day had already gone by and the Sun was beginning to sink in the West. The sky was beginning to get darker, not much just yet, but it was getting there. Sam returned to Dr. Burke's house, after giving a call to everyone back home.

This time, there was a pickup truck parked in the driveway and there were lights on inside. Finally, he could talk to this man and maybe get some much needed answers. He got out of his car in time for the rain to make it's appearance. He was struck by how intense it was. In Seattle and the surrounding areas, they got a lot of rain, but it was always this light miserable drizzle that lasted for days. Apparently, here it just exploded downwards and immediately drenched everything it hit. Sam pulled his jacket tighter around himself and rushed up to the doorstep. In spite of his speed, he was still soaked by the time he got under the eaves. The cold had gotten that much worse because of the rain and he was beginning to shiver. He reached up and pushed the doorbell, the chime ringing out inside the house. Footsteps could be heard heading in the direction of the front door.

The door opened and an old man with a slight build peered out at him, suspicion steeped in his very stance. "Can I help you?" he asked dourly.

"Uh, yes sir. I'm here to ask you about a couple who were your patients a little over twenty years ago. My parents went to you for awhile back then. You were their doctor." Sam tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice, uncertain of how successful he was.

"I was a lot of peoples' doctor back then, you're going to have to refresh my memory, son."

"Well, you would remember my parents because of the circumstances behind them." Here it was, the moment of truth. "They were the Oliver's."

The man, while standoffish before, looked downright hostile now. "Get off my property, now," he growled, moving to shut the door.

Sam put his hand out and stopped it from closing. "Please, sir. I need to know the truth about what happened back then. I know it's not pleasant to discuss, but I don't know where else to turn. Please, just share what you know."

Dr. Burke lost some of his hostility and stopped trying to force the door shut. "You're asking me to make a tall order there, Sam."

"You know my name?" he asked, wondering about the implications of that.

"Of course I do, son. I was the one who caught you from your mother's womb. I will always remember that night. A terrible fog had come in on the lake there and you could hardly see in it at all." He looked speculative about that for a moment, before recovering. "Well, you might as well come inside if we're going to discuss this. This rain is murder." With that, he turned aside and allowed Sam entrance.

The house was delightfully warm and dry. The chairs looked comfortable and inviting, he just wanted to sit down in one and relax. Dr. Burke even had a fire going, casting a wonderful glow over everything. He proceeded to shed his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the door.

"Well," said Dr. Burke, "let me get a good look at you." He took a hold of Sam's face with both hands and began to inspect him. Sam was just dumbstruck by his actions and did nothing in response. Dr. Burke felt his lymph nodes and checked his pulse. "Say ahh," he said.

"Ahh," said Sam, figuring that it was for the best to just go along with it. Dr. Burke stared into his mouth, seeming pleased with what he saw there.

"You seem to be in good health, Sam," he said and began walking away. "You want some coffee?"

"Thank you, and yes please." Sam took the opportunity to have a look around the room.

"Feel free to have a seat," called out Dr. Burke from the kitchen.

"Thank you," he said, but didn't yet take him up on his offer. As much as he wanted to sit down, he was full of too much nervous energy.

"Do you like cream and sugar in your coffee?"

"Yes, thank you," he said, inspecting a picture on the wall. It was a group photo of three men posing in front of a building. The man on the left was definitely a much younger Dr. Burke, the man on the right was young looking and unfamiliar, but the man in the middle… Sam got such a chill when he settled his gaze on the man. The devil was looking directly at the camera –and consequently Sam –a shark-tooth grin plastered across his face; his suit was impeccable as ever. There was a caption below the picture, it read: Mike B., Jerry B., and Mike K. –the doctors are in!

"He called himself Jerry," said Dr. Burke, startling Sam. He was holding two steaming mugs in his hands. "We met in '77 at a medical conference in Vegas, he had two gorgeous women in his arms and he looked like sin incarnate." He handed Sam one of the mugs and sat down.

"Thank you," said Sam, finally taking a seat of his own.

"He was charming and charismatic, I took to him immediately," he continued, lost in his own memories. "He offered to take me out on the town and introduce me to some of the private poker games they had going on. Oh, he had **all **the connections; he knew everyone. I'm talking about big high rollers, the movers and shakers of Vegas. Looking back on it, it was how I got into debt to begin with.

"I should have ended it there, but I didn't. Our friendship continued on over the years after that, much to my regret. He introduced me to Dr. Kaufman, who would end up playing a part in your birth; he's the other man in that picture. He was a strange character, that one –always walking around like he had something else entirely to do.

"Anyway, it all came to a head when I got visited by thugs in my own practice. You see, Sam, by that point I had racked up over thirty-thousand dollars of debt from my times with 'Jerry' in Vegas. We went there a total of three times when we were friends, as I recall." Dr. Burke stopped here to take a sip of his coffee.

Sam, who had sat listening to this story, with completely undivided attention took his own sip and asked, "What happened next?"

"Well, they gave me forty-eight hours to get them their money or bad things would happen. Needless to say, I was scared shitless. These men looked very serious and I knew that they would follow up on their threats. That was when 'He' stepped into the picture. To make a long story short, he impressed upon me his true identity to the point that I had no choice but to believe. I was desperate; I didn't know what else to do. He literally made me an offer I couldn't refuse, so I took it."

"Sir, is there anything more? My parents told me that the Devil had you tell them that they couldn't have children when they could." Here, Dr. Burke looked extremely uncomfortable. "Wait," said Sam, "is that not right?"

"Oh, I am sorry Sam, but I cannot tell you about that, I'm not allowed to. 'He' forbade it explicitly." Dr. Burke shielded himself behind his coffee by taking a sip.

"Oh no. Please tell me something; I traveled all the way across the country to talk to you. You can't leave me hanging here; I **need **to know the truth." Sam set his cup down on the coffee table and focused his look on the other man, trying with all his might to will him to break this silence.

"I'll tell you what I can, but it won't be a whole lot though. I'm sorry, but that's the best that I can give you."

"Whatever you can tell me, I don't want to go home empty-handed," said Sam, eagerness etched into his features.

"As I mentioned to you earlier, I was there when you were born. A thick fog had settled in over the lake, completely blanketing the whole town."

Sam broke in here. "Wait, you mentioned the lake before, but I haven't seen any lakes around here." Confusion laced his words, as he spoke.

"Oh no. That wasn't here. That was in… What hospital was that? Brookhaven, I think. But that was over in Silent Hill."

"Silent Hill?" he asked, mostly to prompt him to continue.

"It's about an hour's drive from here. Anyway, you should try Dr. Kaufman. He was there and watched in on the procedure. Would've tried to do the delivery himself, if your parents weren't so insistent on me doing it. Afterward, he had the nurse cart you out to another room. Your parents followed him. That was the last time I ever saw you until now." Dr. burke took another drink of his coffee, letting silence fill in the room.

"Do you know if Dr. Kaufman is still practicing there?" he asked, desperate for some avenue to continue his search.

"Oh, I think so. I haven't spoken to him in many years. You should try there, though. I don't have any contact info for him."

"Thank you, sir. I'll try there." With that, Sam stood up.

"You're welcome, Sam. But just be careful; you're dredging up some dangerous things that have been buried for years."

"I know, but I must do this. I will do what I need to, to get this information."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Please refer to the disclaimer in Chapter 1

A/N: So far, I've been my own beta, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

* * *

Chapter 2: Silent Heaven

Sam was sitting on the bed in his motel room, trying to watch television. It was too difficult to concentrate though. He had come all this way and all he had to show for it were more questions. Tomorrow, he could drive over to Silent Hill and find this Dr. Kaufman, but that was so far away from then. It felt impossible to wait that long, he had to take some sort of action. Maybe he could take a quick look at the town, just to get a feel for the layout.

Restless and without much else to do, he shut off the T.V. and got up. Sam slipped his jacket on and grabbed his keys on the way for the door. Even if he ended up driving around in circles, it was still better than sitting around doing nothing. It was still pouring down rain, but he didn't care about that. He got in his car, started it up, and pulled out of the parking space. Visibility was going to be poor, that much he could tell. Rain water fell down his windshield in streams and rivers, even the wiper blades at full speed were barely enough to allow him to see.

Earlier, he had studied the map and had a pretty good idea on how to get to Silent Hill. He just hoped that this wasn't going to turn out to be a bad idea. The road he was on started out in town, with buildings lining both sides. Eventually, though, those buildings grew fewer and farther apart until he was beyond them completely. The road began to twist and wind through hills and forests.

The drive was growing more and more treacherous as he continued. In the daylight, he had no doubt that this was a beautiful stretch of road, but right now he only saw the danger apparent in it. It would be all too easy to go off the side and not be found for days in the least. He needed to be careful and go slowly, if he was to make it safely. The rain had yet to lighten up in any noticeable way; in fact, he was certain that it had only gotten more intense.

Sam turned on the radio, hating the silence that had fallen thickly inside the vehicle. The station his radio was dialed to, was playing some classic rock song. He had no desire to play around with the dial to find something else, so he left it alone for the time being. The music made things a little better and he was pleased with that. He couldn't stand the silence, save for that inane patter of thundering rain on the roof of his car.

Minutes stretched on as he drove, counting down until he reached his destination. The closer he got, the more nervous he was. There was something about that name, Silent Hill, which set his nerves ablaze. He couldn't put his finger on it, just some undefined feeling he got. When the town's name was first mentioned, he didn't pay it much attention being too enwrapped in what Dr. Burke was telling him, but now it alighted something within him. There was an ominous quality to the name, Silent Hill, something that bothered him a little. As it was, there was little he could do about it, save for turning back. That was something he was not prepared to do, however.

Eventually, he saw a sign ahead that stated that Silent Hill was just three miles further, with the town of Brahams another seven miles. This was it, he was getting close now. Sam turned down the volume on the radio a little, opting to put his concentration on the road ahead of him a little more. He was getting anxious about what he would find there, what the town would look like when he got to it. A sign indicating that Silent Hill was coming up on the left, flashed by him.

It was on this road that something happened. He had been crossing a very dangerous stretch along what appeared to be a deep crevasse, when a figure darted out in front of his car. Sam didn't get a chance to get a good look at the figure before he drove through them, but he thought it was a young girl. He slammed on his brakes and lost control, the screeching of the brakes was deafening. His car slipped and slid on the wet cement, slamming him into the guardrail. He smashed his head on the steering wheel, sending an explosion of colors across his field of vision. Sam passed out to the sound of static on the radio and the thundering of rain on his car.

* * *

Consciousness came slowly, building itself layer by layer. First, he could only hear the world around him, which wasn't much except for a slight breeze. The next aspect of his return to life was the return of sensation. Pain flooded through his body, eliciting a moan from him. His body ached and his head was throbbing, the pulse of it matching his heartbeat. Awareness came back completely with the return of his sight. He opened his eyes to what seemed to be a blank white wall.

Sam looked around, noticing that he was still in his car and that night had turned to day. He was completely surrounded by a bank of fog. It swirled and floated around him, enshrouding his car in it's entirety. Giving himself a minute to sit there, he reached for his seat belt and unlatched it. Grabbing the door handle, he pulled it out and tried to push the door open. It wouldn't budge, so he tried again, this time putting his weight behind the push. The door gave with a loud creaking groan of protest, but it did open.

The air outside was brisk and wet, feeling blessedly cool against his face. Sam stumbled his way out of the car, taking a few seconds to regain his bearings. His headache was beginning to fade, something he was grateful for, but his body still ached severely. He took a better stock of his surroundings and what he saw shocked him to his very core.

Behind his car, the road he came in on was missing. It ended sharply in a drop off. Was the rain severe enough to annihilate the road so completely? He reached in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone; it was dead.

"Dammit," he muttered, putting the phone back in his pocket. There was nothing else to do now, but head into town and look for help. With that, he turned around and began walking down the road. His steps were uncertain at first, as if he had forgotten how to walk in the accident. As he walked, his legs became stronger and surer in their strides. Sam kept his eyes peeled on his surroundings, taking in his environment. The fog was choking and pervasive, it was like being indoors. He could barely see the road ahead of him and kept clear of the edge, which overlooked a bottomless grey abyss.

The road was set at an incline, heading slowly downhill. He figured this was a good thing, thinking that it meant he was close to town. It was hard to remember how far he had traveled on this road last night, so he was uncertain of exactly how far he was from the town proper. So far, he had seen nothing to indicate that civilization was anywhere nearby. Sam didn't want to entertain such thoughts, yet they came to him, regardless. He just tried his best to keep his mind blank, as he walked.

Time wasted away into some chasm, lost forever to him. He had no idea how long he was on that road, following it's winding path. It continued it's downward angle, taking him –it seemed –deeper into the fog. There was simply no escaping it; there was no safe haven from this thick soup. All he could hear were the hollow echoes of his own footsteps, a sound he allowed himself to focus on. It was better than letting his mind wander over anything else.

As it was, the road began to even out and the chasm to his left filled in to the point that he could see the ground below. The ghostly shape of buildings could be seen from where he was, something that rejuvenated him considerably. Maybe now he could get some help and finally get his answers, the ones that had been plaguing him for awhile. He quickened his pace in light of seeing those structures. Sam began to jog, closing the gap between him and town. Soon, he passed an old-fashioned wood sign that stated: Welcome to Silent Hill. He couldn't prevent the smile that graced his features at this.

The road curved to the left, taking him straight into town. Immediately upon setting foot into Silent Hill itself, he saw that there was something wrong. It looked as if it had been abandoned. Even in the thick fog, he could see garbage strewn about the place haphazardly. No one was visible nor were any of the cars he could see, moving. It just seemed wrong to him, somehow. He looked about cautiously, trying to see if he could see anyone. The town looked empty. Sam peered into the window of a shop, noticing that it looked like it hadn't been occupied for quite some time. Fear crept up his spine, heightening his senses incredibly. _What could've happened here?_ He thought.

Sam continued on in his walk, careful to look for signs of other human beings. So far, it seemed as if he was alone. No building that he passed, looked in any way used. It was as if everybody just left all of a sudden and let the town fall into disrepair. That feeling of wrongness only grew, the further he walked. This town was a bad place, he had decided, there was nothing good here that he had found. Everything was a symbol of that wrongness, from the empty shops to the old rusting cars parked in the streets.

After traveling a few blocks, he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. Ahead of him in the distance, he could see the vague outline of a person standing there in the middle of the street. "Hey!" he called out, hoping that this person could tell him what was going on. In response, the person fled in the other direction. "Goddammit," He muttered, running after the other person.

At first, he wasn't certain if he was still running in the right direction, as he saw no sign of the person. Then, when he was just about to give up, he saw them run around the corner to the left. With a second wind, he quickened his pace and ran around the same corner, which led him to a narrow alleyway. It was clogged with the old rusting hulks of dumpsters and garbage bins. Trash was littered everywhere, blowing about in a breeze he wasn't certain that he felt. The other person was visible in the distance, just barely inches away from being swallowed completely by the fog.

"Hey, I just want to talk!" he yelled out, hoping he could get them to stop. It didn't work; the other person didn't so much as falter in their run. Sam tried to get a burst of speed to close the gap, but wasn't sure if it worked. The figure darted around another corner, this time to the right, behind an old car. He made it to the car in short order and ducked around the corner. It led to another alleyway, this one much narrower than the last. There was hardly any elbow room here, just enough for a person to use.

He came to a set of stairs leading down, when he heard a loud noise. It sounded like an old air raid horn blasting out through the town. The sound of it stopped him in his tracks for a second, but only for a second. Sam started leaping down the stairs, two steps at a time, hoping to make up for his mistake in stopping. Every time the horn sounded, it seemed as if everything got darker. By the time he reached the bottom step, it was more night than day.

The alleyway ended here, instead turning right into an enclosed walkway. It was pitch black in here, but he didn't let that stop him. Keeping a hand on the wall, he stepped into the darkened walkway. At the moment he entered the tunnel, the horn sounded out it's last blast before going silent. His heart was racing and fear was beginning to consume him. What he wouldn't give for an escaped soul and a vessel right about now. At least with that, he understood it. This situation was a total mystery. Was the Devil behind it all? Did he concoct all this? While it seemed like a sound theory, something told Sam that Satan was not behind this. It was something else entirely.

It felt like he had been walking in this sightless tunnel forever, that it had no end at all. It wasn't a very comforting thought, but he just couldn't seem to shake it. He soldiered on, despite his strong desire to turn back. He knew he needed to find this person, to find out what was going on. Hell, he just needed to find this person for the sake of human contact. Sam had never felt more alone and isolated, this was unbearable.

As he was walking, he began to notice a growing light ahead of him. This omnipresent darkness was beginning to break and lighten up a little. The tunnel opened up into some sort of courtyard, but there was something deeply wrong with it. The fog was gone, replaced by a light drizzle falling from a night sky. The ground was inexplicably made up of rusted metal grates, suspended over a bottomless pit. The exterior faces of the buildings were all comprised of iron plating, each one as rusted as the grates.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, taking in his surroundings. The courtyard was bisected by a chain link fence running down the middle. The other side of the fence was filled in with rusting scraps of metal and other such garbage, The edges of the side he was standing in were also filled with such things. There were oil drums and what appeared to be old surgical beds, lining each side. He cautiously walked to the far end of this space to see one of those surgical beds resting at an angle, separated from the rest of the scrap. A terrible sensation edged it's way into him when he got a better look at it. It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but it looked like a sheet had been draped over it, concealing something underneath.

Getting closer, Sam could tell that there was what looked like a body under there. The sheet itself was stained by something awful and he could only guess at what it was. It was too late to stop now, he reasoned, and he had to see it for himself. Just as he reached the bed, he heard a sound coming from behind him. He jumped and spun around, seeing something that made his heart leap into his throat.

The empty courtyard that he had just walked through, was now filled with several figures, all facing him. The menace in their stances was evident to him. "Hey," he said, "who are you?" He, of course, got no response.

En masse, they began to approach him, shuffling forward like the undead. These figures were short, resembling children, but he had no illusions that they were kids. Without turning away from them, he reached out with his hands, hoping to find something he could use as a weapon. Initially, his search was in vain, but just as he was about to give up, his left hand closed around what felt like a metal pipe. Grabbing it, he pulled it from the pile of junk it was cased in and brandished it like a weapon. This didn't stop them from continuing forward.

When the nearest figure got into striking range, he almost froze in fear at what he could see. There was no way that these things were human; they were misshapen and their skin was charred. He braced himself and struck out, hitting the closest thing across the temple. It was knocked back a couple feet, slamming into two more that were coming up behind it. That didn't stop them for long and soon they were approaching him again. Sam tried to hit one again, but didn't strike a serious blow. They just kept coming, backing him up into the bed; it fell backward toppling over on to it's side. These things were beginning to surround him. He kept hitting them and one even went down for good, but he couldn't stop them. Soon, they were grabbing at him and pulling him down.

The creatures were pulling at his skin, tearing into him. The pain was overwhelming and he let out a scream. It was loud and guttural, the cry of the dying. What little light there was started to fade and he lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: The shortest chapter, so far. I'm sorry about that, but it isn't really all that short though. The next chapter is really long and will be out in a couple days.

* * *

Chapter 3: The Point of Determination

Sam Oliver awoke with a scream, his body leaping up from it's reclined positioned. He jumped up from what he was lying on and felt his torso where those things were tearing into him. His body was fine, completely unmarred and his breath was ragged and uneven, exploding out his body uncontrollably. He couldn't keep himself from shaking; his entire being was flooded with adrenaline. "Wha..?" he said. "What the hell just happened!?"

He took a look around, seeing he was back on the streets of Silent Hill. The fog was there again, flowing in it's intricate patterns. Sam looked down to see that he had woken up on a city bench. The bench was parked in front of the Silent Hill Police Department. Seeing this, he decided to take a look inside. Maybe someone would be there and he could get some help.

Fortunately, the door was unlocked, allowing him access inside. The place was a mess; papers were stacked everywhere, toppled over in places and scattered across the floor. He walked around the counter into the bullpen. On the far side of the room was an open doorway, leading into a darkened space. Sam peered inside and saw that it was a storeroom, lined with shelves from floor to ceiling.

Entering, he looked around and found a pocket clip flashlight, which he put on after checking that it worked. Sam also found an empty backpack and a first aid kit. He stuffed the kit into the bag, before looking around for more supplies. By the time he was done, he had walked out of the room with another first aid kit and some spare batteries, the bag slung across his back.

Another look in the bullpen yielded a handgun and two spare clips of ammunition. He took these, pocketing the clips and stuffing the gun in his belt. Sam wasn't very used to guns, but he was comfortable with weapons in general these days, all his experience with vessels had taken care of that. Now that he was armed and supplied, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention to the dispatch radio. Maybe he could get it working and call out for help, he doubted it, but it was possible.

Sam walked over to it and flipped the switch on; nothing happened. After playing around with it for awhile, he decided that it was useless. He was on his own on this one, a quick check of the phones confirmed that theory. He was leaving the police station armed and supplied, but without an idea of what his next step was, when he stole a glance at the wall. Tacked up to the corkboard was a map of Silent Hill. Stepping up to it, he took a closer look. The map was shockingly detailed, it showed the names of the businesses and everything. He saw the name of Brookhaven Hospital over one of the buildings and took down the map. "I'm gonna get what I came for," he said, rather loudly for someone who was alone. Folding up the map, he slipped it into his back pocket and moved to leave the station.

He had just reached the door, when he suddenly heard a sound coming from the other room. It sounded like static, but a little different. Caution in mind, Sam pulled out the gun and stepped toward the noise. It led him through a short corridor that traced the outer edge of the building. The hallway ended in a room, the sound was coming from within there. He carefully reached out with his free hand and pushed the door open, revealing an office.

The sound was coming from a small police radio, the kind that attached to a belt. He grabbed it and gave it a thorough inspection. The static was strange and didn't sound like any static he had ever heard before. It was getting louder and he was starting to get on edge over it. He was about to set the radio down and walk away, when something smashed through the window and rammed into him.

Sam smashed into a filing cabinet and rolled over onto the floor, landing on top of the thing that had body checked him. His gun flew out of his hand along with the radio and slid under the desk. He placed a knee on whatever it was that attacked him and pushed himself up. It was starting to writhe and twist, trying to free itself. The thing had wings, he noticed in some small part of his mind not centered on survival. His eyes focused in on his gun, laying there just out of reach. He knew he wouldn't be able to reach it without getting off the creature. That didn't matter so much though, as it was doing a damned fine job of getting free on it's own.

Taking a breath, he braced himself and leapt away from the thing and stretched his hands out for the gun. He was so close to it, he was certain he was going to succeed. That was when he felt something grab his ankles and give a mighty tug. Sam could feel his jacket and t-shirt ride up, the backpack slipping off-center from his back, he was then flipped over onto his back rather uncomfortably and forced to stare into the beast's terrible visage. It didn't have a face to speak of, more of a twisted flap of flesh drawn tight at an extremely unnatural angle. It was wrong, like some sort of perversion of everything he had ever known. Sam was terrified of it immediately. He had to kill it; that was the only thing he could do.

Bracing himself better against the floor, he lifted his feet up and kicked at the abomination with all his might. It was launched off of him and crashed into the wall, denting the drywall, before it fell to the floor. Sam rolled over and pushed himself up to his feet and grabbed the side of the desk and pushed it over onto it's side. Everything that had been on it was sent smashing to the floor. The hand gun was left exposed and he reached down and grabbed it, spinning around in time to plug one shot into the thing before it struck him with one of it's wings across his face.

He could feel blood streaking down his face and fired again. The creature screeched out bizarrely in pain, it's cry strange and haunting to his ears. But it didn't go down. He fired once more, sending it into the filing cabinet and then to the floor. Sam rushed over and pushed the cabinet onto the creature, leaving only it's head and extremities exposed. He set a foot on the cabinet, keeping it stable and aimed the gun right at it's head and pulled the trigger. The monster, for that is what it was, stopped moving and the radio stopped emitting static.

Sam let out a sharp breath, looked up, and yelled, "Are you behind this!?" The identity of the recipient of this cry was obvious and opted out of responding, it seemed. He knelt down and grabbed the small radio, clipping it to his belt. He turned away and walked out of the room, then left the station. Once outside, he consulted the map again and put the directions to the hospital in his mind. Pocketing the map, he started in the direction of the hospital.

His mind kept playing over the events that got him here, from deciding to check out the town last night to getting in a fight with a large faceless bat. He wondered if he was going mad and none of this was even real. While that was a distinct possibility, he couldn't help but think that there was more to it. The Devil liked to accuse Sam of giving up when things got tough and Sam did want to give up, but he had to learn the truth. Something was going on here and he was certain that it related to him in some way he couldn't figure out. He thought back to his talk with Sock and Ben and how they didn't want him to go alone. It was true that he could use a little back up, but he was definitely glad that they weren't here in danger with him.

The walk to the hospital was long and he was starting to get really paranoid. He knew he wasn't alone here, but he was uncertain about who or what was keeping him company in this God-forsaken hell hole. Sam didn't think he really wanted to know, given how no contact he had with anything turned out positive. Someone had walked out in front of his car, causing him to crash and he chased someone through the streets that led him to some horrible nightmare. That wasn't counting the monsters that had attacked him. He kept darting his eyes back and forth, looking for some unseen danger lurking in the shadows or around the corner. And what the hell was up with this damned fog? Dr. Burke mentioned something about fog when he was talking about the night Sam was born. Was fog a part of it? Did it have something to do with him? Perhaps it was best if he tabled this line of thought for the time being and focus on the here and now.

He took a right at a street corner, after taking another quick peek at the map to check if it was the right way to go. He had tried to memorize it earlier, but it just wouldn't stay in his head accurately. It was something he always had a problem with, in fact it was one of the reasons he left college. The amount of studying he had to do was unbearable, in his opinion. None of that mattered, though, he was here now. Sam was going to get to the very bottom of this mystery, even if it led him into the bowels of hell itself. In thinking it, he was forced to acknowledge that it was an extremely literal possibility. That struck up an interesting thought. What if this place was one of those portals to hell that the Devil was talking about? He had mentioned that any place that could be considered hell-on-earth **was** hell-on-earth. If that was the case, then what made this one different from the others he had encountered?

Once again, Sam tried hard to let go of these thoughts. He turned his attention to the street ahead of him and was a little disappointed that he saw nothing that revealed he was getting any closer to his destination. Eventually, He came to a point that stole his attention completely. The road ahead was gone, like the road behind his car. It was as if something had reached down and scooped up an immense chunk of the earth, leaving a gaping hole behind. The hole came right up to the edge of the two buildings flanking it, blocking his path forward. Just before this was a three-way intersection –which he was standing in the middle of –with the other road stretching out to his left.

"Shit," he muttered through clenched teeth, "this changes things a little. What the hell do I do now?" Taking out the map, he unfolded it and tried to place where he was. According to it, he could take the road to the left, but it would take him the long way around. The more he was out in the streets, the more exposed he felt, so he wanted to get there as soon as possible. He could cut through one of the buildings, but who knew what dangers lurked inside those places. The place on the right was a bank and looked way too fortified for him to break into quickly and easily, and the building on the left was an office building. It looked promising, but he wasn't certain that it would get him all the way across the expanse. For that matter, the bank was no surefire bridge to the other side either.

Sam decided he would give the road to the left a look-see and if it appeared promising, he would suck it up and take the scenic route. It took two minutes of walking to prove to him that it wouldn't get him to where he was going. Partway down, it ended abruptly in another hole, this one looking no less foreboding than the last. Aside from the office complex, the only other place on the right side of the street was the wrong side of a storage facility. There was only a single sturdy-looking service door on that face of the building and he didn't want to waste time and effort on getting it open. It appeared that his only option was to go through the offices.

Doubling back, he returned to the office building and gave it a calculating stare. It had a plaque set into it's stone facade, declaring it as the Toluca Lake Business Center. It was very large and had a sizable parking garage attached to it's left side. The parking garage appeared to be inaccessible from here, due to the security gate being down. He would have to try the front door.

As luck would have it, the door was unlocked. Not that it would've been a chore to get through, seeing as it was mostly glass. Still, it was nice to not have to make the extra effort. Sam pulled the door open and entered the abandoned office building.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: I'm really nervous about this chapter, since it is so long and filled with so much. If there are any mistakes or glaring inconsistencies, please let me know and I will look into it. Thank you.

* * *

Chapter 4: Things With No Names

Sam was in a darkened hallway, which stretched the entire length of the building. He could see the faint trace of light coming from a small doorway window on the far end of the hall. Turning on his new flashlight, Sam started walking down the hall, his footsteps ringing out in the empty silence that permeated the place. His light cast an eerie glare over everything it hit, adding to the terrible mystique this place had going on.

He got about halfway down, reaching a t-junction that broke off to the right, when impatience overtook Sam and he ended up breaking into a jog. The greater speed and the increased adrenaline only heightened his fear, causing him to run even faster. It was a vicious downward spiral that only got worse the more he let it. Reaching the end of the hall, he practically slammed into the door in his strong desire to open it and get to the other side. Unfortunately, it didn't budge and his body shook with pain at the impact. The door was locked tight, barring him from his easy exit.

"Damn," he whispered, turning around and weighing his options. Thinking quickly, he looked around and zeroed in on the nearest door. It was on the left and made of what looked like solid wood. Walking up to the door –his breath heavy with fear –he tried to open it, only to discover that it was also locked. A sign on the door read: Use other Door, Please –with an arrow pointing to the right. "Of course," he said.

The next door down had a plaque fixed to it that said: Redi-Smile Dentistry; Marcus Barron DDS. Trying the handle, he was pleased when it gave way and opened up. The room inside was completely dark and dependent on his light to be illuminated. In here, he saw a small waiting room, with a door to the left and another on the far wall. Trying the door to the left first, he discovered that it wouldn't budge. It felt like there was something heavy on the other side, keeping it held firmly in place.

Sam walked over to the other door, opening it without trouble. It led into what looked to be doubling as a dental records archive and a store room, a narrow corridor was made from the shelving units that traced the left wall. There was a door there, but it seemed to be blocked, as well. He was about to give up, when he noticed another door at the far end. It was smaller and was stained by a dark and suspicious substance. Only after seeing the stain, did he take notice of the faintly rancid odor that was redolent throughout the space. Something bad had happened here, he was certain of it. He was running out of options though, and couldn't really turn back. There had to be a window in the other room that he could climb through and continue on his way. Why he thought he could get through what appeared to be a utility closet, he was uncertain.

Upon getting closer to it, he saw in the flashlight glare that the stain had to be blood. Whatever had happened here, it centered around that closet. Why was he going to open it? What good could it possibly bring? He felt like a puppet held aloft by a series of strings, being led to the door and made to open it. The knob felt cold to the touch, almost freezing. Taking a deep breath, Sam opened the frail little door, his gun in hand. What he saw in there caused him to take a step back. He had to choke back a scream at the sight of it.

The closet was empty of anything mundane, containing instead a harness made of chains and leather. A human torso was kept suspended in the harness, soaked in blood and ichor that had ended up being smeared all over the walls and floor. Drops of blood fell lazily to a sizable pool directly underneath the memberless body. His focus was so entirely on the horrific sight that he almost missed the hole in the wall on the left hand side. A streak of blood trailed through the hole into the room beyond.

It wasn't the first time he had witnessed something terrible, but never had it been so visceral or inhuman. Not even the Devil had subjected him to something quite like this. Bile raced it's way up his throat too fast to fight back and he had to rush to the first available place to empty the contents of his stomach. Sam could feel the burn in his esophagus and the painful clench of his gut every time he heaved, like some sort of perverse heartbeat. Tears flooded his vision and his head pounded with the ferocity of a war drum. Countless minutes ticked by as he stood doubled over in complete and utter misery at his predicament. The smell just wouldn't leave him and he wished with all his might that it would.

He didn't notice when he had collapsed to his knees or when he had toppled to his side, leaning against a shelving unit. Tears fell freely from his eyes and his breath hitched with every sob. Sam took no notice of his own strangled moans of misery. Was this the price of knowledge? The loss of his mind and his soul? In his mind, he had been reduced to nothing more than a small child, terrified by the monster under the bed. This place wasn't hell-on-earth, it was hell, period.

Like a computer, his brain had to reboot before he could even begin to think about anything but his own suffering. His first clear thought was that he had to get back up, being on the floor like this was dangerous in this environment. Gathering the gun he had let go of at some point, he clumsily got to his feet. He was physically disoriented, his head felt stuffed full of cotton. Sam spared a single look at that wretched closet and thought about what his next move was. He knew he needed to continue his mission, which meant getting through this place and back onto the streets again. There was simply no turning back. With the closing of that thought, he turned his attention back to that little hole. It looked like it would be large enough for him to fit through, but did he want to go through with it?

Sam took another five minutes to be racked with indecision, before swallowing his fear and his disgust and moving cautiously toward the cramped space of the closet. The air was foul in there and threatened to propel him into another fit of vomiting. He didn't think he had anything left in his stomach to lose and refused to let himself dry heave. Biting back the gag reflex, he crouched down and pressed himself into the space. His face was right next to the torso and he had to force himself not to look over at it. He doubted he could do this if he looked at it again. Holding his breath, he stuck his head into the hole.

His flashlight was useless going in, as it didn't give him any light in the right direction. If he was going to do this, he had to move quickly. The unfortunate part was that he was coming in at a really poor angle. He would have to shift his whole body to get in. Trying this, he pressed a knee into the pool of blood. It was cold and thick against his leg and made him think of syrup or molasses. That wasn't the worst part though, seeing as that his side was pushed into the hanging torso with it. Sam had to physically restrain himself from jumping back into the room.

Steeling himself, he forced his upper body through the tight space of the hole. It was a tight squeeze, but he thought he could make it. Using his feet to brace himself, he pushed himself further in. His free hand managed to grasp the other side of the wall and he used that to help pull himself. Everything seemed to be going just fine when he suddenly got lodged in halfway through. _Oh God, I'm stuck, _he thought, seconds away from spiraling into a chasm of terror he would never get out of. He desperately scrabbled for more purchase and a greater degree of leverage, absolutely clueless as to why he couldn't go any farther. It was in that moment that he realized that his backpack had gotten caught on the upper lip of the hole, holding him back.

"Shit," he muttered, wriggling around to free himself. It was tough going for awhile, since he had no wish to move back any. It was bad enough that he was left utterly exposed in this position, but to back up into that closet of horrors was totally unacceptable. In the end, he had to roll over onto his side and slide up the rest of the way. Free at last, he managed to get to his feet and take a good look at the room he had found himself in, gun held out in front.

The area directly to his left was taken up by a massive stack of dentistry equipment, all pushed up against the wall haphazardly. He briefly wondered why that was done, before refocusing his attention elsewhere. The rest of the room was fairly standard for a dentist's office, with the obligatory chair and light array set in the center of the room. There was nothing suspicious here that he could see. The door to the records archive was completely blocked by the equipment, but another door on the wall to the left was accessible. Ignoring all this for a moment, he turned his attention to the bank of windows and the opposing wall to him. The blinds were shut, blocking the majority of outside light from getting in. Still, a dull glow shone through, casting everything in an odd shade.

Walking up to the nearest of the windows, he opened the blinds and looked outside. Defeat pulsed through him, like poison in his veins. He could see a large stone retaining wall directly across from him and a vacant space where the ground should've been in between. This was getting ridiculous; there was no good reason for any of these setbacks. Sam looked in all directions, desperate for a solution to his predicament. At first, he saw nothing that would get him across the divide and on his way again.

To the left, way up high, coming right up next to the far end of the third floor of the office building, he could see the upper arm of a fire truck ladder. _Now that's convenient,_ he thought, sarcastically. It seemed like such great lengths to go to get across, that he almost dismissed it out of hand. But desperate times called for desperate measures and he wasn't in any position to be picky. He would have to get to the third floor and into the office at that far corner to do it, but he was sure it was possible.

Sam walked up to the only door in the room that he could get to and pulled it open. It led into some sort of examination room. He couldn't remember what his dentist's office looked like exactly, but he was reasonably certain that it wasn't set up like this place. Shaking his head of such pointless thinking, he walked across the room to the door at the far end, the door to the waiting room being barricaded by planks of solid wood. This door had to lead back into the main hallway, where he had started out. On this side, he could see the lock quite plainly and unlatched it.

It opened out into the hallway as expected and he turned his attention to finding the stairwell. Walking down the hall, his light hit the glare of a glass case fixed to the wall on his right. It was a map of the building. He took a moment to study it thoroughly; the office he was looking for was suite 306. The bottom two floors were uniformed with a solitary hallway containing the various offices and a tertiary corridor breaking to the right with the elevators, the restrooms, and the stairwell. On the third floor, there was a third corridor, extending to the left over where the back half of the parking garage was located. Suite 306 was located in this hallway.

He walked over to the stairwell, trying the elevators quickly as he did so (they were inoperable, it seemed). The stairwell door opened without trouble and he made his way inside. It was pitch black in here and he was extremely grateful for his light. It didn't do much to comfort him, but at least he was reasonably safe from tripping and breaking his neck. The stairs looked steep and he was already feeling absolutely physically drained by this point. His stomach was still a knot of burning discomfort and his body was still sore from his run-in with the giant bat thing. Cursing himself as weak, he started up the stairs, bypassing the second floor and continuing up to the third.

Pretty much everything was the same up here, except there was a large bank of windows along the wall that faced the parking garage. He looked down through the window briefly, before deciding there was nothing down there to hold his interest. So far, he had not come across anything that had directly hinted at danger in any way, save for the bloody torso in the utility closet. Sam reached the divergent corridor and followed it to it's end. Soon, he was standing in front of the door to suite 306.

A plaque on the door read: Richards and Donaldson; Attorneys at Law. Below that there was a message taped to the door. The message read: Went to 301, be back soon, E. Richards. The door was locked, as it turned out, with a thick heavy-duty padlock. Sam had sold enough of this brand at the Work Bench to know that if it was damaged it wouldn't unlock at all. These had to be cut and replaced, something he was unlucky enough to have dealt with before. The locking plate it was attached to looked too sturdy to be knocked off or shot off either. He considered trying to bust the door off it's hinges, but ultimately dismissed that notion after giving it an experimental shove. The door was too thick and sturdy for him to knock down, so he had to find another way around the problem

Looking at the note again, he memorized the new suite number and decided on making his way there in the hopes that E. Richards had left the key behind there. He felt like a rat in a maze, being led around through a variety of stimuli. It was frustrating, but he could think of no way around it. Suite 301 turned out to be the Silent Hill Dance Studio. The door to it opened up obediently and he found himself in a narrow hallway that stretched out to the left and the right, both sides opening up at the end and leading into the studio.

Randomly choosing a direction, he entered the studio. The room was empty and spacious, with two doors on the far wall. Large mirrors were set up on each wall with balance beams attached to them. A solitary wooden chair sat askance in the direct center of the room. The chair's positioning bothered him somehow, it was all wrong in a way he couldn't put into words. Sam walked up to the chair and looked at himself in the mirror. God, he was a mess. Blood had streaked down his face, dried and clotted against his skin and his shirt. The wound suffered at the wings of that creature had clotted awhile ago and was beginning to scab over a little. More blood smeared his jeans and the lower half of his shirt and jacket; it was mixed with dirt and grime and whatnot, His eyes were blood shot with deep bags under them. His hair was dirty and stuck up all over. He looked mad, and maybe he was.

Sam was about to look in the back room when something in the mirror's reflection stole his attention. It looked like something red and thin was creeping down the mirrors and the floor in the rest of the room, but when he looked around at the room itself, he saw no sign of it. The other mirrors were showing the same thing, but again he didn't see it occurring in the actual room. The weird red tendrils started to snake up his pant legs in the mirror, racing upward steadily. He was beginning to get freaked out when they reached his face. That was when his head began to feel funny. Sam could feel the beginning of a headache and his vision started to go red. He could almost hear a strange sound, like ringing in his ears. It escalated steadily in volume and pitch and soon all sight and sound was drowned out by redness and the shrill ringing. Just as he was starting to lose sense of himself, he thought he could pick out the sound of some sort of horn in the distance. It sounded so familiar to him, but he couldn't place it anywhere just then. Sam lost himself completely to the sensations and knew no more.

* * *

Sam came to, lying on the cold floor of a room he didn't recognize. It was strange and horrible to look at. He was confused about his location and briefly wondered why he wasn't in his bed. It didn't take long for him to remember what had happened though, and cursed his luck. This room had the same layout as the dance studio except the mirrors were gone, replaced by lime and rust-coated cement walls. His flashlight illuminated the place well enough to see, but did little for the terrible atmosphere he was faced with. The floor was made up of rusted metal grating, keeping him suspended over a dark void of unknown dimensions. With a groan, he realized that he was in a place that resembled the weird courtyard he had found himself in, in what felt like a lifetime ago. He had bad memories attached to that courtyard and was not very pleased at the prospect of a repeat performance. The doors leading to the back room of the studio, and the wall closing off the room, were gone, replaced with a cage with no floor. Chains were suspended at bisecting angles in the cage for no apparent reason. This entire room had a bad vibe to it and the less he stayed in here, the better off he would be.

The wall that divided the studio and the entryway had something engraved in it, a strange black substance had dripped down from the scratches at some point. It was a message that read: My bones reside in the place of 2 and 3, please come find me and be set free. "What in the world does that mean?" he asked himself. It appeared to be a riddle, but he couldn't think of what it meant just then. His mind was too distracted to give it enough clear thought. He searched his jacket pocket, digging out a pen. He got out the map of Silent Hill that had dutifully remained in his back pocket and copied the message down on the backside of the paper. Returning the map and the pen to their respective places, he made his way to the door leading out of the studio.

He noticed several things at once upon leaving the room. The first thing he noticed was that the floor at the end of the hallway to his left was missing, opening out into empty space. On the far wall in that direction, a mutilated body could be seen suspended in a complex array of chains. It swung back and forth ever so slightly. He could also hear that strange static coming from the small radio that was miraculously still attached to his belt. His nerves, while tense before, were screaming at him now. The last time it had emitted static, he was attacked by something. Sam turned his attention to his right where the hallway stretched on. His flashlight briefly illuminated something moving in that direction. He raised his gun in that direction and walked toward it slowly, the static from the radio steadily increasing in volume as he went.

Now he could hear the sounds of something moving in that direction. It shuffled oddly, clanking only a little each time. Sam kept walking forward slowly, not daring –even for a second –to take his eyes off of where he could hear it coming from. His light hit it once more and he could see the vague outline of a figure. It seemed to have noticed him as well, as it began to shuffle unsteadily in his direction. The thing looked vaguely human, but without any arms. Instead, it's upper body was bulging like it had arms trapped in it's own skin. It walked awkwardly, shuffling like a gimp on broken legs. The thing had no face, he realized.

He had seen enough of this thing to know that he had to kill it. Aiming the gun with both hands, he squeezed off a shot that hit it in the shoulder. It looked like it felt it, but continued forward anyway. Sam unloaded two more shots that didn't seem to phase it too much. It got into close range of him and reared it's head back and swung it forward. Something sprayed out of it from an orifice he was unable to identify and he jumped back in response. Something told him that he could not afford to get hit by that stuff, whatever it was. The mystery liquid hit the metal grating that served as the floor here and began to dissolve it. _Shit, _he thought, quite appropriately. That could've easily happened to him. With that, he unloaded what remained in the clip at it and scored a headshot.

The creature cried out in pain and fell to the floor, blood pouring from it's wounds and dripping through the grating to the abyss below. Sam jumped over the carcass and continued down the hall, his mind already hard at work suppressing the worst of that encounter. He heard a scraping sound behind him and turned around to see the thing moving it's head and it's legs, trying to get back up. Sam rushed up to it and brought the heel of his foot down upon it's temple with crushing force. A solid crack resounded out in the hallway, as the skull gave way and his foot reached the floor. Blood splashed out in a circular pattern around the crushed head, coating his shoes and pant legs in the thick viscous goo.

Grimly satisfied at the sight of it staying motionless, Sam turned away and moved on. The point where the corridor split to the right, where the elevators and the stairs were located, ended abruptly. The grating dropped off there, preventing him from going straight forward anymore. He could still take the right and he did, stopping again as soon as he started. The path to the stairwell was gone, leaving him with the only available option of the first elevator. It wasn't working when the place didn't look like the dominatrix parlor of a schizophrenic, so he wasn't expecting much better this time around. Pushing the button, Sam was a little shocked when he could hear the cab start up and begin it's ascent to his floor. There was something oddly comforting about hearing the mechanical whirs and clanks of the machine, some aspect of normalcy that reached him. Soon, the cab reached his level and the doors slid open, revealing a cramped dimly lit interior.

The elevator cab was dank and smeared with a cocktail of brown, green and red stains. It smelled slightly rancid and everything had a sour yellow tint to it. Sam reluctantly entered the elevator and turned to the control panel. The door slid shut and a loud silence ringed in the air. Seeing the list of floors on the panel, Sam had an epiphany and quickly pulled out the map while slipping the gun into his belt. He read the message written on the back, before putting the map back, and thought about it. He understood that apartments were listed by floor number and then room number and he figured that the same held true for office buildings. The message said "the place of 2 and 3," so it reasoned that it meant suite 203.

Sam decided to go there and see if it panned out, besides, he didn't have any better idea at the moment. Pushing the button for the second floor, he pulled his gun back out and withdrew the empty clip. He replaced it with one of the spares, pulling back the slide to cock it as the movies told him to, and deposited the used clip into his pocket. It was always possible that he would find a box of ammunition later on that he could load it with. All he had to figure out now, was which room was 203. Nothing in this Otherworld was labeled except the elevator controls, so it wasn't merely a matter of looking above the doors. But, he did sort of remember a little about how it was set up. If he was correct, then it was on the north end of the hallway.

The elevator reached it's destination and the doors slid open. He peered into the corridor, before stepping foot in it. It was set up in much the same fashion as it's counterpart upstairs. He exited the cab and headed right. The radio wasn't sounding off, so he was hoping that it was safe. Sam started walking and soon heard a faint crackle of static. It really got noticeable when he passed what must've been the first room to the right. It was little more than an exposed doorway into a floorless space. Chains were bolted to all corners of the chamber, converging on to a bizarre sight in the center. He wasn't really certain what it was, except that it was somehow alive. The thing was a mass of oddly colored flesh. It writhed and undulated in what could've been interpreted as pain from being chained up in such a cruel way. If he had been feeling a little more generous, Sam would've put the damned monstrosity out of it's misery. As it was, he had very little ammo and he wasn't entirely sure if it was worthy of such relief. For all he knew, it deserved it's fate.

Sam moved on, making his way to the next doorway, which had an actual door. It was starting to look a little promising. He was reasonably certain that this was suite 203 and tried the doorknob. It opened with a loud creak and he entered the room. Inside, he came to realize that most of the room was cut off from him. Chain link fencing flanked him, running the entire length of the room. The other side of the fencing was empty with no floor, as was usual in this place. The only things visible on either side were bodies stretched out by chains hooked to the limbs, one on each side of him. The skin on each body was flayed and stretched out into grotesque wings, attached to each of the four chains. He crossed to the opposite end and opened the door on the other side. To think, just maybe an hour or so ago, he had had a minor mental breakdown over a torso in a closet.

The room he had entered was mostly empty. The floor was made of cement like the walls. He was happy to actually not be able to see through the floor to that horrid abyss. His imagination left him wondering what it would be like to fall into that nothingness and he shuddered at the thought of it. The cement was caked in lime deposits and rust from a series of pipes overhead. Rusted scraps of metal were clustered in a couple of the corners of the room, with a dented steel desk set up on it's side to the left. A tall metal shelf was pushed flush with the right wall, a pile of barbed wire resting on top of it.

Sam got about midway through the room, when he heard something scrape against the floor behind him. He turned around and was forced back a step at what he saw. There, in the flashlight's glow, someone was standing in the door way. This specter was tall, vaguely male, and wearing a giant iron pyramid on it's upper body. A thick rubber apron, the kind used by butchers, adorned it's frame. In it's right hand, it loosely gripped a ridiculously massive blade, the dangerous end of which was resting on the floor behind it. The thing gave off such a sense of evil and malice that he froze with fear.

It started moving in his direction, it's free hand joining the other to grip the hilt. Hoisting the blade onto it's shoulder, it prepared to swing it at him. Sam managed to shake himself out of his state and rolled to the side just in time to avoid being cleaved in two, his light flashing wildly throughout the room. His shoulder flared in pain when he landed on it wrong, but he pushed that aside as best as possible. He got up as it was pulling the blade back to get it back into position to swing again. He started firing off shots at it, as he was backing away. Some of the shots ricocheted off the giant helmet, but some made their mark and burrowed into flesh. If the thing felt them, though, it was very good at hiding it.

Sam was forced to dodge the blade again and it smashed into the upturned desk, splitting it in half. The two pieces of the desk fell to the floor and slid away from each other in roughly opposite directions. One of the pieces hit him in the leg and he was swept off his feet and fell to the floor himself. The bizarre looking man was standing almost directly in front of him now and getting ready for yet another swing. He rolled onto his stomach, got his feet underneath him, and jumped forward as far as he could possibly go. The blade swung down just in time to nick his right leg. Pain blossomed out from the wound and reverberated throughout his body. Sam screamed in agony, instinctually dropping his gun to clutch his wounded appendage. The thing started walking closer to him, the blade scraping noisily on the floor behind it.

He didn't have the time to grab his weapon and still get out of the way, so Sam abandoned it for the time being and opted to roll out of the way as far as possible. The blade crashed down on the floor once more, producing a fountain of sparks on the cement. Bits of concrete flew into the air, some of them hitting him in the face, stinging him. Sam stopped rolling when he smacked into a pile of junk in the corner, producing more pain for him to deal with. Getting to his feet was difficult, perhaps the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in his young life, but he managed to support himself on wobbly knees. His breath was coming up in short gasps and his muscles quivered and ached with the need to just rest. But there was no rest for him at the moment, there was a good chance that he would never get to know rest ever again. The injustice of it all was truly phenomenal, yet he couldn't escape it.

Trying to think as quickly as possible, his eyes darted around the room, looking for something to use as a weapon until he could get to his gun again. The shadows danced wildly as he looked around, desperate for anything that could help him. Sam saw an old rusted shovel sticking out of the pile of scrap and grabbed it. The weight of it comforted him a little, in that it was hefty enough to use as a weapon. Brandishing it as such, he returned his focus to his enemy. The thing was just in striking distance from him and readying itself to do just that. He thrust forward, putting as much strength as he could muster together into his strike. The blade of the shovel was driven into the monster's midsection, blood spraying out from the wound. Sam didn't stop there; he continued to force the shovel blade deeper into it's bowels, hoping to force it off it's feet.

The thing staggered back several feet, the blade somehow staying in it's hand. The shovel ended up going with it, staying buried in the middle of it's gut. While not quite the degree of victory he was hoping for, it was a whole hell of a lot better than he was expecting. Sam hobbled away, trying to get to his gun. The creature grasped the handle of the shovel with it's free hand and pulled it out, dropping it. The sound of the garden implement falling to the floor rang out through the room.

Sam reached the fallen hand gun and crouched down awkwardly, favoring his injured leg, and grabbed it. He turned around and fired off a few more shots, this time aiming low. The abomination was staggering in his direction, the severity of it's condition now apparent. Two of Sam's shots scored it in the waist near the shovel wound and the third went wide. The gunshots did little in the way of slowing it down any further and he decided that the gun just wasn't all it was cracked up to be in this situation

Getting out of this predicament would take a little more ingenuity than a point-and-shoot philosophy. Looking around the room again, his eyes fell on the shelf with the large tangle of barbed wire on it. If he could lure the thing in front of the shelf, he could push it over on it, hopefully pinning it down long enough to maybe kill it. Without a better plan surfacing in his mind, he set about to make it happen.

Limping in the direction of the shelf, Sam tried to keep an eye on the monster. It wasn't the easiest of tasks, seeing as his light didn't follow the turning of his head and he wasn't heading in the direction of the damned thing. He could hear the scraping of that wicked-looking blade on the floor again. Fear shot through his body; his speed was drastically reduced and he was worried that he wouldn't be fast enough. Throwing as much energy as he had left into it, He forced himself to go faster. His leg was burning with agony and he has completely out of breath. Sam managed to reach the furthest side of the shelf and slipped the gun back into his belt; he turned around to see it standing almost right behind him and it was almost in range to attack.

Working quickly, Sam grabbed the side of the shelf and pulled it from the wall with all his strength. It was shockingly heavy and went a little slower than he wanted it to, but it did begin to tip over. The huge mess of barbed wire slid smoothly off the top and fell onto the thing squarely, instantly getting entangled around it. The full force of the shelving unit smashed into the pyramid crown of the creature and drove it to the floor. Sam, while pleased that it had worked out so well, didn't allow himself the time to rejoice. He, instead, began looking for the shovel, his light catching it just about in the middle of the room.

Sam propelled himself toward it as fast as he could, feeling like he may just manage to do this. He reached down and picked up the shovel, using it as a cane to push himself back up. He could only hobble feebly now, but he saw that the creature had not managed to get free yet. It looked like the combination of the barbed wire and the heavy weight of the storage shelf was enough to hold it down for a little while. Still, it was foolish to trust in that staying true for long; he needed to finish this soon.

He reached it and stepped on that huge angular tub of a helmet; the pain in getting up on it was almost unbearable. The monstrosity was writhing and shifting underneath him, but he managed to keep his balance and bring the shovel up into the air with both hands. It was aimed down at a small exposed strip of it's body. With his weapon gripped tightly in both hands, he drove it down with complete abandon. A primal part of his psyche that he had never really accessed before howled in mad glee at the sensation of breaking resistance, as he impaled the beast. It felt gratifying in some way that he knew he should feel shame over, yet he wasn't in the mood for caring in that second. Blood sprayed up and hit him in the face and painted his clothing deep red. It was cold, he realized numbly; somehow, that seemed wrong to him, unnatural even. Sam brought the shovel back up and then thrust once more into it's soft part. He did this over and over again, soon losing count of his strikes. The thing then bucked up fiercely in a great burst of strength, launching Sam and the shelf off of him and snapping the barbed wire in parts that had been drawn taught around it.

His body flew several feet in the air and he landed painfully in a battered heap on the floor, the shovel flying from his hands. He saw the abomination get back up, taking the giant blade with it. What happened next took Sam completely by surprise. The damned thing just started walking slowly to the door and left, closing it behind it. Sam could only lay there and listen to the scrape of the blade on the grating in the other room and the heavy footsteps it produced, begin to fade.

As Sam stayed motionless on the floor, he could feel the adrenaline fade from his system. He lost all awareness for an unknown stretch of time, his body shutting down on him. When he came to, his entire body protested the strain it had been put through and he groaned loudly. Opening his eyes and giving them the time to put everything in focus, he looked around to notice he was still in the same dank room he had been in. It was hard to push aside the disappointment, but he had more important things to think about. He needed to sit up; it was decided that he would start with that.

The task of getting up was a monumental struggle at first, but got a little easier as he went. Eventually, he was on his feet and he took stock of his surroundings. Sam noticed that his radio had been smashed at some point in the fight, but his flashlight had survived. He still had his back pack and his gun, so he started looking through the contents of the room. It was difficult to move and his wounded leg was beginning to throb oddly. Sam made a discovery in one of the scrap piles. A skeleton was buried in the pile of junk, it's bones yellowed and stained brown in places. It had a chain around it's neck that had something hanging from it. Taking a closer look, he saw that the object was a key. Reaching down, he pulled the chain off it's neck and took the key. In that instant, the world grew fuzzy and everything started looking red. He could hear the blasting of an air raid horn in the distance, as his head throbbed in pain and everything went away.

* * *

Agony was all he knew waking up, it was his whole universe. He was lost in a spinning cyclone of suffering and his entire body hurt too much to move even an inch. He let himself stay there for just a little while longer, before opening his eyes to see that the floor was carpeted. Sam groaned and pushed himself up, slowly getting to his feet. The world had gone back to normal.

He was standing in some sort of office, right next to a plain wooden desk. Light was shining in from the windows and looked brilliant at that moment. Sam saw a white dress shirt hanging from the door and hobbled over to it. Grabbing it, he yanked it down and pulled it free from the hanger. He tore it into strips and used one to tie around his leg, just above the cut. It was time to move on; he had to get out of this place.

Sam left the office and went through the front room, entering the hallway. The place was empty and he was able to move at his own pace without distraction. There was nothing easy about it, as he had to focus all his attention on putting one foot in front of another. Eventually, he reached the stairwell, needing the handrails to pull himself up. After what felt like an eternity of struggle, he made it to the third floor landing and opened the door. He navigated the hallway all the way to the attorney's office, using the key to unlock the padlock.

A minimal amount of attention was paid to the business, just enough to find his way through it to a large office. The window was open and he could see the outermost portion of the ladder facing him. He made his way over to it and reached out. His hands grasped a hold of the sides and he pulled himself onto it. The fog-filled air felt wonderful on his face, as he ever so slowly made his way to the ground. Sam reached the fire truck and climbed down to the ground, before continuing on his way.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: A much shorter chapter than the last, sorry.

* * *

Chapter 5: Brandon

Sam found himself leaning against the back wall of what had to be a Laundromat, his body weak and his mind tired. At the moment, he couldn't defend himself against a strong breeze, let alone a perversion of God's design. He would just have to find some place to hunker down for awhile, some place safe. It was a real head-scratcher, trying to think of a place that he could stay safe for awhile. Looking around, he spotted a dirty mop leaning against the wall next to a line of broken commercial laundry baskets.

Upon grabbing it, he noticed how filthy it really was. There was obviously a good reason for it being thrown away. He snapped the mop head off and tested it as a cane. It was time to move on and he needed something to use as a crutch. After looking at his handy map, Sam got his bearings. According to it, there was an inn somewhere nearby across the street from a place called Rosewater Park. Maybe he could barricade himself in one of the rooms and rest a little more. Stuffing the map back in his pocket, he began limping onward.

He reached the street corner where the park and the inn were, noticing that the supposed "inn" was more of a motel. Sam was just turning the corner, when something hit him in the side of the head.

"Hey!" someone cried, shocking the hell out of him. He turned to look and saw a young boy standing about ten feet from him, holding what looked like a handful of rocks. "Yeah, you!"

"What?" said Sam, dumbly.

"You're not supposed to be here mister," said the boy.

Sam just stared at the kid, who couldn't have been older than eight. He was wearing clean, if a little shabby, clothing and looked to be completely unharmed. There was a familiar quality to the boy, something he couldn't quite define. How had he been surviving here?

"What, you mute or something mister?" the boy asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Uh no, I'm not. What are you doing…" Sam broke off for a second, wrestling with the oddness of this encounter. "What happened to everybody?"

"What happened to who?" asked the boy, sounding terribly confused.

"The townspeople; your parents," explained Sam, bewildered by this child.

"Oh, they were mean and they're gone now," said the boy, looking quite bored now. He was looking around, obviously distracted.

"They're just gone?" This was beginning to be the most surreal encounter that he had here, so far. "What's your name?" he asked, changing direction.

"Brandon. What's yours?"

"Sam," he said, using a softer voice that adults always reserved for children. "Could you tell me something, Brandon?"

"Like what?"

"How have you been surviving here?" He asked, thinking it could be useful to know.

"Whadjya mean, Sam?"

"I mean, there are those scary monsters," he said, getting right down to it.

"Monsters? You're weird." With that the boy ran away, screaming, "I don't like you!"

"Wait!" Sam called out. "Don't go!"

The boy ignored him and disappeared into the fog. Sam tried to chase after him, but was forced to stop because of his present condition. There was little he could do about the situation, so -with a sigh -he decided to go with his original plan of securing a motel room. _What an odd little kid,_ he thought.

He grabbed both his room key and the master key from the pegboard in the motel office. There was a box of emergency supplies underneath the front counter, with some candles sticking out. They must've been for power outages, or something. Letting his backpack slip from his back, he set it on the counter and unzipped it. Sam stuffed the candles inside. Looking under again, he saw something else behind the box. There was a shotgun shoved in the very back, a box of shells sitting next to it.

The gun turned out to have three shots loaded and the box had about fourteen shells left in it. All in all, it was a good find. He put the box in his pack with the candles and zipped it all up. On the way outside, he stopped at the vending machine alcove and looked at the contents. It was filled with snack food, so he raised the butt of his newly acquired shotgun and smashed the glass facing. Stuffing his pockets full with anything he could grab, Sam moved his attention to the pop machine. It wasn't made of glass, so he couldn't repeat the same trick. Instead, he looked at the side of the front and saw where the lock was located. Aiming the shotgun, he pumped it and fired. The whole section where the lock was, blew off into pieces, causing the loading door to swing open. He grabbed a few bottles of water and left to check out his room.

The room was covered in a fine film of dust, but otherwise looked clean. Locking the door, he went over to the bed and set the backpack down on it. Next, he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it on the floor. Sam got out the candles and lit them with a complimentary book of matches from the nightstand. With some light in there, he peeled off his shirt tenderly and dropped it. Taking out one of the first aid kits, he opened it up and set about treating his wounds.

He had to take his pants off to get to the cut on his leg. All things considered, he was lucky that none of his arteries were nicked by that massive blade. Still, it would definitely need to be stitched up. This was going to be tricky. A search of the bathroom yielded a small sewing kit that had been left for guests. Sam had never done this; he always left it to Ben, who had actually taken a first aid course. That wasn't a surprise though, seeing how accident prone his friend was. Fortunately, he had seen Ben do it a few times and he knew how to stitch clothing, somewhat.

It was another forty or so minutes, before he finished up. It was a little sloppy, but it would have to do. Next, it was time to eat something and try to get a little sleep. There was an awful sense of finality to going to sleep here on purpose, like he was accepting that he could be in this nightmare for a while. It wasn't just some brief traumatic experience, but the beginning of a long sustained ordeal. Yet, in spite of his fears, he could feel his eyelids starting to droop. His stomach growled, breaking him from his morbid reverie.

Turning to the bounty he liberated from the vending machines, he tore in with gusto, forcing what he could down his throat. He untwisted the cap off one of the water bottles and started drinking. At first, it seemed as if he would never be able to sate his hunger or quench his thirst, but he started to slow down and was soon done. Sam cleaned everything off the bed, grabbed the hand gun and lay down, closing his eyes. He soon fell into a light fitful sleep, his dreams strange and confusing.

* * *

With a great yawn and a lazy stretch of his body, Sam Oliver woke up peacefully. The calm in his mind didn't last long, not when his memory of recent events returned to him. It was a rude interruption of his peaceful moment, forcing him to grab the gun he had kept next to him on the night stand. He could tell by looking over at the drapes that it was still day light outside. _Doesn't the Sun ever go down here?_ He thought to himself. Not that he really wanted night to fall, but he was starting to seriously lose track of time in this hellish place and it was messing with him fiercely. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his feet down on the floor. The candles he had set on the dresser were still burning merrily away, having melted down over halfway. Wax was dripping down the front of the dresser and collecting in a congealed pool below.

Sam stood up, feeling his muscles ache dully in response. While he wasn't in top shape currently, he was feeling a hell of a lot better than he did before. His leg wasn't throbbing so much at the cut and his arms didn't feel like they were going to fall off at any minute. Stumbling into the bathroom, he went about his business, vaguely surprised to discover that the plumbing still worked. After cleaning up a little, which mostly involved washing his hair and face, Sam wandered back into the main room and grabbed a granola bar, practically forcing it down whole. Washing it down with some water, he grabbed his t-shirt from the floor and inspected it. He could see what awful condition it was in, from the ragged holes and the tears to the massive amount of blood collected on the front of it. It reeked faintly of sweat and gore, something he didn't want on him. He would have to find something to replace it with soon, until then he had his jacket. While not in much better condition, he could live with it.

All the things he had accrued were put together and put away in the places he decided on and his garbage was thrown in the wastepaper basket. He took the time to check his bandages and redress them if necessary. His stitch job had lasted through his sleep, looking no worse than it did when he had done it. The skin around the cut didn't look nearly as inflamed as it did earlier, a good sign as far as he was concerned.

Sam was loaded with supplies now and rested enough to continue on. He slipped the jacket on, feeling weird for wearing it without a shirt underneath, but it would have to do. Zipping it up, he clipped the flashlight onto a front jacket pocket and grabbed the shotgun.

The air outside felt chilly, but it was tolerable. The map told him that if he followed this road, it would take him to a left and that the hospital would be up on the right hand side. It still looked like quite a walk, but he felt certain that he could do it. With that in mind, he set for himself a reasonable pace and got ever closer to his destination.

As always, this damned fog was thick as ever, obscuring almost everything from sight. It could get a little disorienting after awhile, screwing with his mind. Anything could be lurking around and he would have no clue until it was almost on top of him. Sam's thoughts turned to the little boy, leading him to ponder that little mystery. The first nonviolent living being he came across, and it turned out to be little kid who thought he was weird for asking about the danger. What did it all mean? Why was this happening to him? He had a feeling it had to do with what he would find in the hospital.

He eventually came to the left turn he was supposed to make, set between a gas station and what looked to be a bowling alley. Following it down was easy enough and he soon passed a night club. There was nothing out of place that he could see, nothing that piqued his interest. The place was living up to it's reputation as a ghost town, silence and isolation holding sway over everything. He kept his eyes peeled for the hospital entrance.

The walk took awhile, his mind running with the different possibilities of what he would find when he got there. He really couldn't fathom what secrets would be contained within, if any at all. Only time would tell, if he was lucky enough to last that long. As Sam approached Brookhaven, he began to get the sense that he was no longer alone. There was something nearby in the fog with him, something dangerous. He no longer had that radio, but he had his instincts, which were screaming at him to run. His grip on the shotgun tightened and he raised it up a little, just in case.

Deciding to let whatever it was make the first move, he stopped walking and kept his eyes on his surroundings. For the longest of minutes, nothing happened and Sam was getting antsy. If there was something, and he was certain now there was, it would be nice if it made a move. He could feel his heartbeat getting faster and his breaths became quicker and more shallow. His nerves were beginning to get away from him again and he wished something would just happen already, if only to break this spell of building tension. It was a growing bubble manifesting itself within him, ready to burst at any second.

Somewhere in the distant eddies of the fog, he spotted what he thought was movement. He aimed the shotgun in that direction, but nothing materialized into view. A faint sound could be heard to his left and he spun on his heels, facing that direction. Nothing. Once more, he heard another sound, this one coming from behind. Sam was beginning to lose his cool a little. Was there more than one out there? What was out there? He was so close to pumping rounds in all directions, in the hopes that he would score a lucky shot. That was dangerous thinking and he knew it would only make things worse for him. There was just no sense in wasting ammo, not when it was in such high demand.

More noises could be heard, this time coming in pretty much from all sides, the shuffling sound of multiple individuals limping. Dread filled his very being and his heart dropped into his stomach at the sight he was subjected to next. From the fog, several figures shifted into his line of sight. They looked just like the armless thing he had to kill just before facing that horrible thing with the pyramid on it's head (Pyramid Head, he had taken to calling it in his mind). More could be heard coming closer from his left and right, as well. This was going to get ugly, he had to get out of here. It wouldn't be easy, since they had him pretty much surrounded and were closing in.

Choosing to conserve what ammunition he had, Sam started to run to the hospital entrance. Beyond a short cement wall, with an open vehicle gate in the center, he could just see the outline of an ambulance sitting on it's tires. It was his only hope, but wasn't going to be easy to get to. He dodged out of the way, just as one of the things was about to ram into him. This street was crawling with them now, these malformed atrocities.

Sam was getting really scared now. There were too many of them to handle; he wasn't certain he could even get away from them. Another got too close and he was forced to fill it with a load of buckshot. That put it down, it seemed. The problem was that another soon took it's place and he couldn't keep firing. Pumping the shotgun, he slammed the butt of the gun into the thing's face. Blood sprayed out from the brutal contact and the thing staggered back a few steps.

Pain erupted along his back, when something scored a direct hit and managed to ram into him from behind. He was launched forward and almost lost his footing in the process. Sam just ran faster than before, trying to get away from the main cluster of the creatures. They were everywhere though, just crawling out of the woodwork. He could hear the sigh-like hiss of one of the things releasing it's acid into the air. His body didn't start melting, so he counted himself lucky there.

He was through the gate and into the unloading zone. The doors could be seen at the top of a small flight of steps. There it was, his refuge for the moment. All he had to do was get to it and he gave himself an extra burst of speed to accomplish that goal. Clambering up the steps, he could hear the creatures not too far behind him. Almost out of breath, he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. Sam rushed inside and forced the door shut, twisting the lock he found on the other side. The door frame shook a little when something rammed into it from the outside, the sound reverberating throughout the empty halls of the hospital. Then, the creatures gave up and apparently decided that he wasn't worth further pursuit.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: This is the first chapter with big revelations in it. To those following this story, please let me know what you think of it. I could always use a little feedback, thank you.

* * *

Chapter 6: Brookhaven Pt. 1

Brookhaven Hospital turned out to be rather small, all things considered. But he guessed that a lot of hospitals would seem small after going to Seattle Harborview for so long. Still, it was probably too big to navigate without a map. With that in mind, he turned on his flashlight and spun around to get a look at the walls. Not too far from the door he came in, he spotted the tell-tale reflection of a glass enclosure fixed to the wall. Walking up to it, he saw that it was indeed the map for the hospital. Liberating it was of no difficulty, just a hit with the butt of his gun and he was victorious.

Sam looked at the map to see if it could point the way to the records room, where he guessed his answers would be. He came across a stumbling block, when he couldn't find anything that stated outright that his records were there. First, he would try the receptionist's station, hoping to make this as quick as possible. The map was folded and stuffed in a jacket pocket, so that it wouldn't get mixed up with the town map. Walking around the corner, he cautiously approached the door into Reception. It opened easily, a resounding creak hinting at extreme neglect.

His heart fell a little at the mess he found inside. It was a small office space, with two desks and several filing cabinets crammed inside. Files and folder were stacked and scattered everywhere. Cabinet drawers were left open in places and random papers were visible in all four corners of the room. A heavy sigh left his mouth; it was hard to tell if someone ransacked this place, or if it was just the victim of a bad filing system. Either way, it could take hours to sort through the whole thing.

Sam walked up to the closest desk and looked it over. Past all the folders and notes, something was taped to the surface of the desk. Brushing all the paper work to the side, some of it falling to the floor, he saw a white sheet of paper taped there. It had a list of contents for the filing cabinets. Most of it seemed completely unhelpful and the actual medical records here only went back to the '90's. A note next to an asterisk at the bottom suggested that older records could be found in storage in the basement. Well, at least he wouldn't have to search through this mess anymore.

He took out the hospital map, looking at it in the flashlight's glare. There were two storage rooms in the basement, though, and he had no clue which one it was in. The only thing he could do was check both. Sam put the map away and left the room. In the hallway, he turned left and made his way down the hall toward the stairs.

The hallway split into two directions, with the door to the stairs to the right. Trying the handle, he encountered a problem. While he could turn the handle, the door refused to budge. Either something was lodged against the other side, or the lock was broken and stuck. In truth, it didn't really matter. Can't get through means can't get through, no matter what. Looking at his map again, he decided to try the elevator. It was located in the other direction, where the hall opened out into a lobby.

A check of the elevator proved fruitless. It looked like he would have to find another way downstairs. Sighing, he pulled the map out once more, not seeing another way down. He **did** see, however, a way to get into the stairwell, from upstairs. On the far end of the medical ward on this floor was another set of stairs and another elevator. There was a possibility that, by doing that, he could get access to the central stairwell from above. If that was an issue, he could maybe try from the third floor. Regardless, there weren't many other options out there, short of prying the elevator doors open and climbing down the shaft. As things stood, it was the only thing he could do (that seemed to be a line he was selling to himself a lot, lately). On top of it, he saw that it would take him near the men's locker room and he could check to see if there was a spare shirt there. By this point, he didn't think he cared if it might be considered stealing from a dead man. His jacket itched quite severely and it was starting to bug him.

He ran into a problem when he got to the door that led to the medical wing on this floor; it had an electronic lock, one that was actually in working order. There was a door leading to an examination room that could get him into the hall, but it refused to budge. None of the doors in this place looked vulnerable enough to just bust down, so he was going to have to play ball on this. Below the keypad, a strange note was taped to the wall. It read: the clues come in threes, with half their values in the end.

Sam furrowed his brow, curious as to it's meaning. It had to have something to do with the pass code, of that he was pretty certain. But there was information missing. The note talked about clues, yet didn't provide any of them. If they weren't on the note, then they had to be written down elsewhere. He most definitely hoped they were, otherwise, he was stuck. This was getting frustrating; so much for getting in and out quickly. Snagging the note from the wall, he pocketed it and decided to take a look around.

Being in this hospital was a little creepy. There was something about it that spoke of undefined malice, a sense that went beyond what he felt elsewhere in this town. Well, he knew of one event that occurred here that the Devil engineered, so pure evil had to be a requisite of this place in some capacity. His birth had apparently taken place at a significant location. Why was it that he was born here, anyway? Did Satan need this place for his birth, somehow? It made Sam uncomfortable to think about this, but he felt that he needed to. He really wanted his friends right then, if only to tell him it was going to be okay. Saying it to himself just didn't work, not when he was alone and trapped in some sort of purgatory with the denizens of hell crawling around within it's depths. At the moment, his parents weren't exactly his favorite people. If they had just owned up to their shitty situation, none of this would've been an issue. After thinking that, he immediately felt guilty. He loved them, no matter what, and didn't want to fall to such a low level of bitterness.

Taking a moment to wipe a tear from his eye (due to something getting caught in there, he assured himself), he tried the handles of any door he came upon. Most of them didn't open, but a few of them did. The cafeteria held nothing of interest in it, neither did the kitchen. Sam didn't strike gold until he entered the Doctor's Lounge. Something odd was drawn on the whiteboard hanging from the wall. It was a series of twelve arrows, all in a line. The first arrow pointed diagonally up and left; the second, down; the third, down and right; the fourth, right; the fifth, up; the sixth, up and left again; the seventh, down; the eighth, down; the ninth, up and left once more; the tenth, right; the eleventh, down; finally the twelfth, up and right. Taking out the note, he read it again. It stated that the clues came in threes and there were twelve arrows.

He walked up to the board, set down his shotgun, and grabbed a marker. Sam uncapped it and placed commas at every third arrow drawn. Doing this, it looked like it made up a four digit pass code. What he couldn't figure out, was how the arrows translated to numbers. Setting the backpack a nearby table, he opened it up and pulled out a bottle of water. After taking a drink, he picked up the marker again and drew a grid with nine boxes in it. The grid was three boxes across and three down. He then wrote numbers in the boxes, starting with one at the top left and ending with nine on the bottom right.

Looking at the grid he just drew, something came to him. If he started at the center (an arbitrary starting point, he admitted), then the arrows pointed at specific numbers. Following it like a line, the first three arrows led him to eight. Sam continued this pattern and wrote down the numbers that fit the directions of the note. His tactic yielded him the numbers, eight-two-four-six. But the note said that they only had half their values in the end. Dividing the numbers in half, he came up with four-one-two-three. Satisfied with that as his answer, Sam cleaned up after himself and slipped on his backpack and grabbed the shotgun, before leaving the room to try it out.

Coming up to the keypad again, he entered in the numbers and hit enter. A dull click could be heard coming from the door. Smiling, he walked over and opened it with ease. Happy to be done with that distraction, he looked down the corridor. It looked clear from here, if a little eerie. His steps slow, he made his way down the hallway, all his senses on alert for anything that was out of place. If he knew that he would end up here, he would have never bitched so much about capturing escaped souls. In fact, he would love nothing more than to be off catching one right then, Sock and Ben by his side. As strange as the thought was, it sounded like heaven to him. Anything was better than being subjected to this madness. One thing he had learned from his fate, though, was that bitching didn't really get him anywhere. Oh, it felt nice, but was ultimately useless. There were times when he could hear himself complain and realized what a whiner he could be at times. It wasn't easy to acknowledge one's own shortcomings, but also hard to deny.

Sam mentally berated himself for this bout of weakness and resolved to stop these self-indulgent pity trips. All that mattered was the here-and-now, nothing else. When he got himself out of this, he could waste the rest of his days away, picking himself apart until nothing was left but a quivering neurotic mess. Bringing himself back to his horrible reality, he realized that he had reached the stairwell. The door opened obediently for him and he began walking upstairs.

* * *

Coming out into the second floor hallway, Sam started down it in the hopes that nothing else would get in his way. He remembered to stop by the men's locker room for a new shirt. His jacket was just plain obnoxious, something he only had limited patience for. Passing by the rooms, he paid them very little attention. It would take forever to check each and every room. Who would want to possibly spend that much time in this wretched building? No, he had a clear idea of where he wanted to go and wasn't going to let himself get distracted.

Sam exited the hallway and entered the faculty section. Passing the door to the stairwell, he turned the corner and navigated the corridor until he arrived in front of the door to the locker room.

He entered quietly and found two rows of lockers, each lining a wall. Poking around, he found an open locker with a leather day bag set inside. A search of the bag yielded a clean-looking polo shirt, the color of light blue. He shrugged off his backpack and unzipped his jacket, letting it slide off his shoulders. The air was cold on his bare skin, so he slipped on his new shirt. Surprisingly, it turned out to be a good fit, pleasing him greatly. Putting his jacket back on, he zipped it back up and followed up with the backpack. With that annoyance out of the way, he could continue on with his mission and get the fuck out of here. He turned to leave, when something inside the leather day bag caught the glare of his flashlight. Curiosity overcoming him, he leaned over and peeked inside. Sitting between a pair of socks and some underwear, was a strange object.

Plucking the strange object from the bag, he held it up and inspected it in the light. It was a medallion, hanging from a strand of leather. There was an emblem engraved on one side, depicting a figure standing in an archway. His head felt light and his vision went grainy, then the sensation faded. This trinket was important, he wasn't sure how, but it was. Before he put it on, he decided he would learn more about it first. This item was strange and he had no clue what it signified. Until then, he would keep it. Sticking it in his pocket, he left the locker room.

The door to the stairwell opened up and he stepped inside. The air in here was stale and just a little foul. Motes of dust swirled around lazily in the beam of his light. Sam took the stairs down, feeling more than a little closed in. This place was a tomb, as if it was a place the living weren't meant to be. That got him to thinking about how he came to be here. It was as if he had gotten the chance to see a part of existence that ran as a current just underneath the surface of reality, some alternative "place" where it reflected everything like a mirror. The only difference was that the image was distorted and appeared like a crude mockery of all that was right. Sam stopped here, feeling his brain break a little. No one ever accused him of being overly cerebral, something he readily acknowledged.

He passed the first floor landing and continued deeper down, feeling like he was heading into a deeper layer of this waking nightmare. Sam had lost all sense of time, his mind beginning to overtax itself in coping with the strain that it brought. The very feel of this place was getting to him. Looking at the wall as he walked down, it took on a sinister edge. That was the nature of this God-forsaken pit, he realized, to tear your mind to shreds by stripping from you those things that made you work properly. When the very room you're in could betray and consciously visit acts of evil upon you, then you had no reprieve from it, none whatsoever. It was upon the finishing of that thought that he reached the basement floor landing, the stairwell opening out directly into the hallway.

_Wow,_ he thought to himself, _what a shit-hole. _One look around and he got the story. Surgical beds were lined up along the walls, some in extreme disrepair. The air was dank and a little moist. Mold wafted through the air and elicited the urge to sneeze, which took all his willpower to prevent. Luckily, the door across from him had a plaque on it that read: Store Room. Going to it, Sam opened it up and walked inside.

Inside, the beam of his flashlight swept over stacks of boxes and broken hospital equipment. Along the wall to the right, he made a gruesome discovery. A line of six gurneys were set flush with the wall, a sheet draped over a suspicious-looking shape on each one. The sheets were positively soaked with blood, it's metallic scent permeated the uncirculated air of the store room. Ignoring the bodies, he turned his attention to the boxes stacked along the far end. There were over two dozen boxes altogether in six stacks, each at least four boxes deep. Getting a close look at one, he confirmed that the box was designed for long term document storage. Each box was labeled according to year, from 1989 all the way back to '63. He had hit the jackpot, a brief bubble of joy rising within him at coming this far. Here was his moment of truth, at long last. Sam spotted his box, the year 1986 standing out in bold red permanent marker. After moving a couple of other boxes out of the way, he grabbed his and searched for an open spot to sit down.

Removing the lid, he looked inside and saw that it was packed with files. There was no discernible code for the filing system, which was no real surprise, considering the disastrous condition of the receptionist's station. He spent the next several minutes searching. Over time, he went about making himself more comfortable. His backpack was resting next to him, the shotgun on the other side. The water bottle he was drinking earlier was out, with an empty candy bar wrapper next to it. Sam had gotten over three quarters of the way through and was beginning to lose hope. The thought of leaving empty-handed was extremely disheartening. If he found nothing here, then what else was there? Did he just wander this place in constant torment forever, without any answers and completely alone? Fear settled in him at that prospect. Determined not to let that happen, he refocused his attention on the remaining folders.

His eyes spotted the last name Oliver on one of the folders. Taking it out of the box, he flipped it open. It was a clump of different pieces of paper work; hospital bills, medical records and birth certificates all shoved into the same manila folder. Sam felt his jaw drop at what he read. He was a triplet, his mother gave birth to two other boys that night; what's more, the birth record stated that his parents were only expecting twins. According to the ultrasound, there wasn't a third fetus visible at all, but it turned out to be dead wrong. Sam flipped to the birth certificates. He saw his and the next one was for Brandon Oliver. His mind went to his encounter with that strange boy who called himself Brandon. Was it a coincidence? What did it all mean? Sam did note that Brandon seemed familiar, third certificate was for Charlie Oliver; he was the youngest, coming two minutes after Brandon who, in turn, came a minute and a half after Sam.

It was surreal, looking at the information he had gathered. Sam never expected any of this, not at all. The truth of it knocked his world right out from underneath him, sending him to a whole new world, one where he did not know his place in it. The worst part of it was that it didn't really tell him if the Devil was his father or not. He didn't really know what he thought he would find, nothing like a signed doctor's note stating that the Devil was identified as his biological father. It was supposed to, well, just be different. He had to find that kid, Brandon, talk to him again, and this time try to get on his good side.

The sound of the door opening startled him, causing him to drop his file on the floor. His hands flew straight for the shotgun and he stumbled to his feet, trying to get it aimed at the door and be standing. His flashlight beam, revealed a familiar-looking man. He was older, with a thin frame and wearing a white doctor's coat. The man only looked mildly surprised to see Sam there, saying, "Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you."

Sam, recognizing him then, could only say, "Dr. Kaufman?"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Warning: **Extremely Disturbing Content** in this chapter.

A/N: This is the longest chapter so far, perhaps the longest one in the entire story at over 9000 words. Please Read and Review, thanks.

* * *

Chapter 7: Brookhaven Pt. 2

The two stared at each other from across the room, Sam speechless at the sight of the other man. He had been in such isolation for so long, it was hard to adjust to the presence of another human being. Dr. Kaufman, the man in question, walked slowly toward him, each step sure and deliberate. Sam, who had maybe lost more than a little bit of his sanity, kept the barrel of his shotgun aimed at him. The only other person he had talked to here had been Brandon, but as a child he was different. This was a grown adult, someone who may be able to explain what was happening in this damned town. As odd as it was, the problem Sam was having was that he had forgotten –at least a little –how to interact with another living being without trying to kill it.

Dr. Kaufman, to his credit, didn't even bat an eye to the distrustful treatment. He got over to where Sam was, looking over at the mess of papers on the floor. "I see you have been availing yourself of the opportunity to do a little searching, while you're here. Tell me something; how is Dr. Burke doing?"

Sam was having some difficulties in wrapping his mind around this development. A part deep within him cried out in ecstasy at socializing with another person. So starved for human contact was he, that it required actual concentration to keep himself from dropping his gun and throwing his arms around the other man in a crushing bear hug. It took him a little while to get his act together and form the words needed to respond. "I have so many questions for you." Pausing a moment, he continued, "God, I don't know where to even begin."

"I suppose you might be wondering about Silent Hill, but the truth is that it only plays a small part in your story." Dr. Kaufman found an old chair that was sturdy enough and sat down, facing Sam. "You see, Sam, many years ago when I was in medical school, I was approached by a man named, Jerry."

Sam rolled his eyes at this, having heard something like it before.

"Jerry," continued Kaufman, "slowly became my friend. He told me he was a doctor and had so many high-level connections; I was compelled to be seen around him as much as possible and he soon became my mentor. He was more than willing to let this go on and soon I was making all the right connections for myself. It wasn't until a few months after I graduated, that he revealed to me his true nature." Clearing his throat, he said, "I had always suspected that he wasn't who he claimed to be, but to discover that he was the Prince of Darkness really threw me for a loop.

"But the Devil wasn't the only person I met with such a strange and horrible secret. A woman named Dahlia Gillespie had recruited my help for her 'project.' At the time, I didn't realize how crazy she was or anything of the mad thing she wanted my help in facilitating. But none of that really has much to do with you. The Devil wanted mine and Dr. Burke's help in making the way to conceive you. Once you were born, He had no use for us anymore. I haven't spoken to Satan since the night of your birth, Sam." Dr. Kaufman stood up here.

"But there's more to it. I was a triplet; two others were born that night," said Sam, desperate for this knowledge. He just wanted it all out in the open.

"That's very true, Sam. I was not given the whole story, but I have pieced quite a bit of it together. All the Devil wanted was you and there were a lot of things that needed to be put in place to see that happen. My theory is that he required a very evil place for you to be born in. This is where he apparently turned to another powerful entity, the god Samael."

"Samael?" asked Sam, the name sounding strange on his tongue.

"A demon of great power, who had his own plans. It played a part in why he chose me, since Dahlia Gillespie worshipped Samael devotedly. She ran a cult that was based here in Silent Hill. This was the ground stage for their plans to have him rise to power. She wanted my help in facilitating the creation of Samael's vessel, her own daughter, Alessa. I make no justification for my part in all this, I just really didn't care all that much back then about the consequences.

"The Devil and Samael struck a deal, allowing Satan to use this place for the purpose of birthing you. In return, Samael would get your twin as a back up. That was in case, Alessa didn't live up to expectations. What no one, not even the Devil, knew was that there was a third baby. Your parents were carrying triplets the entire time and we were all clueless. You see, as the first-born you were promised to Satan, Brandon as the scond born went to Samael, but the youngest, Charlie, was a complete abomination."

"Hey! My little brother was no abomination!" Hearing it, Sam got infuriated for reasons that he couldn't articulate even to himself.

Dr. Kaufman let out a short bark of laughter. "Sam, I don't mean to get you riled up. I am merely telling you of the consensus reached that night by the two parties involved. They decided hastily –don't ask me how that played out –to throw Charlie into an orphanage. It was considered for the best, since the significance of it was unclear back then. They deemed it too dangerous to have the boy killed, but they did not want him hanging around either you or Brandon. Regardless, the Devil got what he wanted as well as Samael that night. Dr. Burke and I went our separate ways and life went on." Dr. Kaufman moved to head to the door.

Sam stood up, crying, "wait!"

Pausing at the door, Kaufman turned around to look at him.

"You've told me so much. How can you get away with telling me all this without the Devil punishing you?" Sam thought this might be good information to have for his mother.

"It's simple, Sam. He wanted me to tell you all this. The Devil knew that you would come here one day with questions and told me to answer them. All of this," Dr. Kaufman held his arms out wide, indicating everything, "was all a part of his plan." With that, he opened the door and left the room.

"Wait!" Sam cried out, quickly grabbing his file and his things. He rushed out into the hallway, wanting to ask what happened to Charlie after going to the orphanage, and didn't see Dr. Kaufman heading up the stairs. The sound of another door opening could be heard from his left. Sam darted around the corner to see a door swinging shut on the right hand side. Stuffing the file in his backpack and zipping it up as quickly as possible, while holding a shotgun, he ran into the room. It was the other storage room, with two large shelving units on either side. More junk was being stored in here, but it looked a lot cleaner than the other room did. What he didn't see in here, was Dr. Kaufman.

Sam was certain that he had seen the door to this room swing shut. His eyes focused in on a large circular hole in the wall on the far end. Slinging his backpack on, he readied his shotgun and crouched in front of the hole. He couldn't hear anything coming from within the hole, but there was no other place for Dr. Kaufman to go to. The hole curved out of sight, heading slightly downward and to the left. It was roughly hewn, like it was dug right out of the earth by hand. A foul breeze emanated from it, sour and ancient. It gave him a really bad feeling. But if this was where Dr. Kaufman went, then he would follow. With that, Sam got on his knees and climbed inside.

* * *

The air was rancid and musty, clinging to his skin wetly. Sweat dripped from his pores and soaked into his clothing, making him feel even dirtier than he did before. Traveling down the tunnel was slow work, each twist and turn taking him deeper into a place he knew was no good for him. His initial reason may have been to follow Dr. Kaufman, but it evolved into an obsessive dedication to reaching the other end of the hole. Sam had a vague idea of why this place wanted him, but he could tell that there was more to it. There was a secret here that he needed to learn and the only way to learn it was to go forward.

After an eon of crawling through this cramped tube, he noticed that the air had gotten even worse. There was a slight hint of sulfur mixed with the other smells. His vision was limited, even after pulling the flashlight from his pocket and brandishing it in front of him. The shotgun had to be stuffed into his backpack, the butt poking out the opening. Fortunately, there was sufficient space in here for his things to stay clear of obstacles. As he crawled in further, his vision began to get grainy and strange lines appeared and disappeared without pattern. It made Sam think of old film stock, the way everything always looked a little scratchy. He ignored the visual phenomenon, choosing to keep himself occupied with inching forward.

His light caught something that made him a little happy. It was the outer lip of the hole, opening up into a room. Reaching it, he climbed out and got to his feet. After dusting himself off as best as possible, he turned around to look at the hole he just came out of. The hole ended about a few feet in; the rest had been filled in. There was no way to turn back. Returning his gaze to the room, Sam discovered that it resembled the storeroom where he had entered the hole. There were drastic differences, though.

This version of the room was more decrepit looking. The shelves that he saw in the other storeroom were dusty, but in otherwise good shape. These shelves were completely rusted, broken in places even. The floor was still made of concrete, but it bore several ugly stains, caused by things he would rather stay ignorant of. The equipment and supplies had been replaced by decaying piles of industrial garbage. The door was made of reinforced steel, rusted as an old ship's bulkhead.

He clipped the light back into his jacket pocket and pulled the shotgun out. After making sure that the backpack was zipped shut securely, he moved over to the door. It opened with a great deal of protest. It led out into what could only be described as a metal cage, one that was kept suspended by unknown means over that all-too-familiar chasm. It was recognizable enough as the basement floor hallway, but only roughly in it's design. Everything else was absolutely different, from the construction materials to the look of the place itself.

Taking a look around, he noticed that the places where the stairs and most of the doors were located, were missing. The only two exits from this hallway were the door to the store room and the elevator doors. He pushed the call button on the grimy control panel and hefted his gun up while waiting. Eventually, the cab arrived and the doors slid awkwardly open. The interior of the elevator appeared similar to the one in the office building, all dirt and grime.

Inside, he looked over at the controls, thinking about where he would go first. Trying the first floor button, he discovered that the elevator refused to take him there. The button, when pushed, did nothing. He tried the second floor and the elevator started up, the ride rough and slow. It took a few minutes for the elevator to get him up two flights, before it squealed to a stop and the doors slid open. This floor was made up of concrete walls, with the floor made of the customary metal grating. Sam could hear a suspicious noise to his right, around the corner. Getting his shotgun to firing height, He spun around the corner, being greeted by a strange sight.

Standing no further than eight feet from him, was a nurse. She was wearing an old-fashioned nurse's uniform, from the odd hat to the short white skirt. "Miss?" he called out tentatively, hoping that she would respond with words. The nurse whipped around, facing him. Sam took a step back, seeing that she had no face to speak of. In her right hand was a lead pipe, with a ninety-degree curve at the end. She raised it up high and began to charge at him.

He took no more than a second of inaction, before firing at her. The shot hit her in the side, taking a chunk out in the process. While the shot caused her to stumble a little, it didn't really stop her at all. Sam raised the gun up to block the strike from her pipe, flinching a little at how strong it was. His arms shook in strain at the blow, causing him to clench his teeth in response. She struck again and this time the blow was enough to glance off his shoulder. Pain blossomed out from the spot, but he recovered quickly and used the broad side of his gun to force her back a few feet.

Sam was about to point the shotgun at her again and pump it, when something caught his peripheral vision on the left. Looking over, he saw another nurse had joined the fray, this one armed with another lead pipe. He ducked away just in time to avoid a strike that whistled loudly through the air. Hunkering down a little, he forced the weight of his body forward and slammed into her midsection. The force behind his attack knocked her back, knocking her off her feet. Pumping the shotgun, he aimed it at the first nurse and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He spared a single glance at his traitorous weapon, before refocusing on the immediate threat. It was too late to completely block the strike with his gun. Using his arm, he shielded his head as best as possible.

A scream of pain erupted from his lips, coming from deep in his throat. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet where he joined the other nurse on the floor. His shotgun flew from his grasp, clattering away to rest somewhere out of sight. The nurse walked up to him, standing imposingly in his line of sight. She raised the pipe up, ready to bring it down on him with brutal force. Grabbing the hand gun from his belt with his good hand, he aimed it at her and fired a few shots off. Not one of his shots missed, something he took a nanosecond to be thankful for, piercing her body. The nurse staggered back, dropping her arm with the pipe in the process.

The other nurse had, in the interim, clambered back to her feet, and was approaching him once more. He turned his gun on her and fired off a few more shots. It didn't seem to stop her any, something that elicited a deep feeling of disappointment in him. She marched up to him on rather wobbly legs, her pipe held up in a position that hinted at imminent violence. Sam rolled out of the way in time to avoid the pipe clanging down heavily onto the spot where his head had been previously located. He managed to get a knee underneath him and force himself back up. Raising the gun again, he fired at her, scoring a direct hit in the head. The nurse stopped in her tracks and her arm holding the pipe dropped, the pipe itself falling from her grip. She stumbled clumsily to her knees, before collapsing face first on the floor.

Sam turned his attention to the first nurse, who had drawn extremely close to him in his distraction. He fired off the remaining shots at her, scoring only a couple of solid hits in the process. She swung at him again, glancing him across the jaw. He saw stars for a moment, before shaking it off. Shoving her away from him, he dropped his gun and dove for the pipe that the second nurse had wielded. Grabbing it, he rolled back to his feet in time to deflect another strike from the remaining nurse. Raising his new weapon up high, he brought it down on her crown. The blow drove her to her knees, the pipe flying from her fingers. He raised it up again and swung it down. Sam continued to do this, losing his mind to the fevered reverie that hitting her brought out in him.

He had no idea how long he was at it or how many times he hit her, but when he came out of it, she was lying on the floor. Her head had been caved in and her body twitched spasmodically. His arms felt heavy and he let them drop, the pipe falling from his nerveless fingers. Each breath that came from him came out in a ragged burst of air. Some part of him cried in response to what had just happened. No matter what claims he made of self-defense, the truth was that he had enjoyed beating her to death. At the time, he had felt a perverse sense of glee every time he hit her. Sam couldn't get enough of the feeling that clubbing her had brought out in him.

A deep sense of disgust overtook him then. This place was turning him into a monster, no better than the ones he had just taken care of. He was frightened by what he was becoming here, what he was allowing himself to become. Tears threatened to fall at this realization; something entrenched and powerful inside him wrenched it out to the surface. There was no doubt about it now; this was a fate he more than deserved. Appalled at this part of his being, he backed away from the bodies and the evidence of his own weakness.

His back hit the wall and he let his body slide down it until he hit the floor. He covered his eyes with his hands and wept once more. Sobs shook his frame and his mind went numb at the weight of it all. Sam lost himself there, spiraling into his own universe of anguish. All his searching for the truth had brought him here, to this moment. In asking himself if it was all worth it, he found himself without an answer. It was minutes before he snapped out of it, but it may as well have been hours. Lifting his head from his hands, he took a look around, while trying to get his composure back.

The elevator had opened out into a small lobby, just like on the first floor. This lobby turned into two corridors, one of them just to his left. The second corridor stretched out in front of him, leading to the stairs and the medical wing. He pushed himself up to his feet and began to collect his weapons. Removing his backpack, he dug through it and got out the box of shotgun shells.

Loading the shotgun, he managed to get five shells in after pumping the gun once to fit one more. The nine remaining shells were put in his jacket pocket, before he turned his attention to the hand gun. He only had one clip left for it, so he would need to make every shot count. After reloading the pistol, he put it back in his belt. Slipping the backpack on, he grabbed the shotgun and decided on his next step.

First, he would check with the map, see where he should go next. Pulling it out, he scanned it's features intently. He decided that he would take a look at the locker rooms. The nurse's station was also down that same hallway and that might be a good place to start. With the map back in his pocket, he started down the hall and turned right when the corridor to the lockers came up. No stray thoughts entered his head at this point. His mind had blanked itself of all such stimuli, ruthlessly and efficiently. All there was for him was survival and the actions needed to ensure it. He knew that this was only temporary, but there was a wonderful quality to such a base-level of operation.

Sam found that all the doors were present and accounted for down here, so he tried the first one on the right, the linen room. The door refused to budge, it's lock broken and the bolt stuck in place, so he moved on to the nurse's station. Readying himself when he opened it, Sam saw that it was empty of enemies. He headed in and gave the room an initial sweep, finding it to be cluttered with the strangest of junk. Headless and armless mannequins were propped up on stands in the room's center, some with sheets draped over them. Boxes and boxes of doll parts lined the wall to his right, rolls of chicken wire piled together on top of them. Dismissing these as unimportant, he turned to the rest of the room.

An old phonograph was set on top of a dented and rusty filing cabinet that came up to about waist high, pushed up against the far left wall. For the moment, he ignored it. On the far wall was a large metal desk, with a variety of mundane office supplies scattered across it's surface. Taking a closer look, he found something curious. It was a very old looking playing card, the king of diamonds to be exact. He had the sudden feeling that it might become useful to him later on, proceeding to pocket it based on that instinct. With that, he found nothing else of consequence here and turned to leave.

A rather loud sound started up abruptly from his right, bringing him to level his gun at it. The wax cylinder on the phonograph had begun moving, the sound being translated by the needle and the horn. At first, the noise was just the grinding of static, but then he began to make out words in the uneven hiss. He couldn't tell what was being said, so cautiously stepped over to it. It sounded like a woman, someone in pain. Her voice sounded familiar somehow, but he had a hard time placing it.

"…ohn. Don't y………No! I d……aby…."

Then a male's voice, this one also familiar, could be heard. "……o. Please j……im. We on……Yes………ame?.......Sam." His name being spoken perked his ears up. It was then that he realized that the voices belonged to his parents. The voices faded and soon all he could here was static. Shortly after that, the sound stopped completely and the phonograph stopped spinning the wax. He stayed there for a few minutes, waiting to see if it would start up again. Nothing happened, so he left, choosing to search the locker rooms instead.

The men's locker room, the one he had found his new shirt in, was inaccessible in this version of the hospital. He had success with the women's locker room though, the door opening quite obediently for him. Inside, it was filled with old dilapidated lockers, most dented and marred beyond the point of ever being useful again. There was an old bench in the middle, stained with what was probably blood. Sam walked slowly around the bench, scanning each portion of the room as he went. Casually, he checked each locker along the way. For the most part, they didn't open at all, their frames too bent and twisted to swing out from their positions.

One of the lockers stood out a little from the rest. It had a corona of dried blood spreading out from it's perimeter, as if the blood had shot out in all directions, with it as the epicenter. There was no blood on the surface of the locker itself, suggesting that the blood had ruptured outward from something kept inside. Curious, he tried the handle and found that it opened easily enough. The interior of the locker was absolutely coated in the same blood that was on the exterior, smelling vaguely of copper. It was empty, save for something small and flat placed delicately on the center of the bottom. A closer inspection of the object revealed that it was another playing card, looking like it came from the same pack as the other he had found. The playing card was the six of clubs, something he noted absently. Currently, he had no clue as to it's significance, but slid it into his pocket with the other card, nonetheless.

He found nothing else in there except for a length of thin rope coiled in the corner on the floor. At first, he was going to dismiss it as unimportant, but changed his mind after a minute of thought. Sam took the rope and tied one end to the butt of his shotgun, fastening it securely. Once he was sure that it wouldn't slide around on him, he took the other end and tied it around the barrel. He tied it to a spot he hoped wouldn't allow it to interfere with operations of the gun in any way. With the rope tied to the shotgun, he could quickly and easily sling it on his shoulder when the time called for it.

With that taken care of, he left the locker room and made his way to the medical wing door. Entering the wing, he made a gruesome discovery. The area of the hall the door opened up to was wider than the rest of the hall; the wall in front of him was recessed a few feet back, a door could be seen in the middle. Several old wire bed frames were pushed up against the door, and a lattice work of barbed wire was stretched along it. In front of the pile was a stack of bodies, each wrapped in a translucent plastic sheet. All in all, there must've been at least a dozen bodies, some obviously meeting horrific fates. Blood smeared many of the sheets and the walls on either side.

Dismissing the sight (and dying a little more on the inside, for it), he focused his attention on the hallway that extended out to his right. Two doors could be seen facing each other just a few feet down, decaying into rust on their hinges. The barely visible outlines of hospital beds could be seen lined up against the walls in places. He turned to the first door on his right and opened it, taking a look inside.

The room was empty, save for some small bits of trash along the sides and corners. The floor was made of tile, with a drain set in the center. Blood was smeared everywhere, staining the floor in a spiral pattern that concentrated around the drain. Sam slowly walked around the outer edge of the room, choosing to stay clear of the worst of it. Nothing caught his attention until he reached the far right corner. Lying in a crumpled pile amidst all the filth that collected in this Otherworld, was a clean white sheet. Curious, he crouched down and nudged it with the barrel of his gun. He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. He took this as his cue to try out his new rifle sling and reached down to pick it up.

Sam held it stretched out a little to see if there was anything to shake loose from it's folds; when nothing came out, he gave thought to laying it out on the floor to see the whole thing. The problem with that was that blood was practically everywhere and he didn't want to soil it. Looking around, he spotted runners attached to the ceiling. It looked like they were meant to string up privacy curtains. He had the brilliant idea to hook the sheet up on the runners, to see if there was anything on it. His reasoning was murky at best, but it felt right to do. Finding a corner, he poked the runner hook through the corner of the sheet and repeated this step. In about foot-long increments, he attached the top edge of the sheet to a runner. About a quarter way through, he could tell that something was written on the sheet in blood. He got two-thirds of the way through his task, when he saw the message for what it was. The sheet said:

Find me in S11.

Pulling out the hospital map once more, he spotted room S11 on the third floor. Finally, he had a particular destination on his agenda. Sam immediately left the room, looking from left to right down the hall. He headed right, hoping to be able to take the stairs up. As it turned out, neither the stairwell door nor the elevator would open up for him. He backtracked and left the medical wing, heading for the elevator.

The elevator doors slid open, permitting him access. He rode it up to the third floor, his gun in his hands and ready to use. As the doors slid back open, he could hear the strange shuffling of something stirring about in the dark. Tightening his grip on the shotgun, Sam stepped out into the small lobby.

In the beam of his flashlight, he caught sight of another nurse stumbling along the wall. She had a large kitchen knife in one hand, the end of which was liberally coated in blood. As soon as he spotted her, she began walking straight for him. He fired off a shot, blasting her in the gut. The nurse fell back, crashing to the floor in an awkward tangle of limbs. Sam pumped the shotgun, sending the spent shell flying through the air. Walking forward, he kept a wary eye on her corpse. As he passed by the body, his eyes picked up the slight motion of her arm being shifted along the ground. Jumping away in reaction, he barely dodged the arc of her knife swing.

Sam swiftly kicked the knife out of her hand, the sharp crack of bone telling him that he had more than accomplished that goal. He put his foot down on her upper chest, forcing her to stay down. Lifting his other foot up high, he brought it down and his weight went down with it. His shoe smashed into where her face would've been if she had one, the force of the impact making her go completely limp.

The brutality that he had displayed in dispatching her didn't even faze him. Later, he could take the time to breakdown, but now he had to press on. Entering the psychiatric wing, he noticed nothing of interest. Up here, there were over a dozen tiny rooms running along the left-hand side of the hall. So far, he detected no threats in here, but he couldn't see to the far end. He tried the room doors as he walked, figuring that he may as well see if there was anything of use in them. The locks on the first three doors were broken, but the fourth opened up with no problems.

Inside, the room was narrow and cramped. The room was lined with padded walls, brown and red stains streaked along them. A solitary bed was set in the center, leather straps dangling off the sides. A couple objects had been placed on the surface of the bed. He walked up to it and inspected the items. One of them was another playing card, the three of spades. Taking the card immediately, he looked over at the other artifact; it was a small wooden box. Flipping it open, he discovered a videotape in a cardboard case. Upon inspecting the tape, he didn't find anything written on it that would describe it's contents. He slipped the tape into his backpack, to look at later, and left the room. The other rooms along the way were inaccessible, so he dismissed them. Counting each door he passed, Sam paused when he counted to eleven.

The door to S11 was no different from the other doors on this floor, with one exception. At about head height, a thin case was fixed to the door. There were five slots in the top of the case, each one made of a hard clear plastic to display whatever went in them. Below the case, he saw a bronze plaque with writing on it.

…and the jewel fell from starless sky,

two in all with fire in mind,

the lands burned in their ceaseless hate,

laying waste to time and fate.

From East to West, the Sun burned red,

the farmers fell first, later found dead,

the father wet his blade and sat to rest,

drinking red wine and only the best,

he slaughtered the noblemen, six in all,

laughing mad as blood did fall,

his son betrayed and rose above,

beckoned by his mother's love.

Sam furrowed his brow in confusion at the poem. _What could it mean? _He thought to himself. The strangeness of this place was a constant source of befuddlement for him, though now he approached it with a more detached curiosity. The part of his mind that got scared and frustrated by these things was thankfully resting, waiting for his chance to resurface. Logically, figuring this out was related to getting through the door. An experimental turn of the handle confirmed that it was locked, with no keyhole visible. Something thin needed to be placed in the slots to unlock it, something like a playing card. He pulled one of the cards out to make sure it would fit in, before replacing it in his pocket. The poem below had to be a clue to the order he was supposed to place the cards in. While all of that was great, he still needed to find the remaining cards before he could test his theory. With three in his possession, he only needed to find two more.

Moving on, with a resolve to return with the cards, he tried the three remaining patient rooms. S12 and S13 were a no-go, but the last one, S14, proved fruitful. In here, the bed was pushed into the far corner of the room. Boxes were stacked on top of it, their contents spilled over the sides haphazardly. He walked over in that direction, hoping that a playing card was hidden somewhere amongst all the junk.

Pain shot out from his back, arcing across his entire body. Sam collapsed to his knees and fell forward to the padded floor. His vision began to swim and his mind felt like it was beginning to recede into darkness. Knowing that unconsciousness meant certain death, he fought with all his might to stay awake and rolled over onto his back. Every time he did this, the backpack dug into his spine, which caused a sharp pain. Ignoring it, he raised his shotgun up and fired. The nurse that had been standing behind him, was clipped in the side. The shot only grazed her and she merely raised her lead pipe in response.

Sam, still reeling from the last strike, could only roll out of the way to barely avoid the next strike. He forced himself up and spun around, with the shotgun held up defensively to block off any attacks. This was done in time for the nurse to hit the gun with her pipe. Using a proven technique, he pushed her back with the shotgun and pumped it. She had recovered quicker than he could react, though, and swung again. The pipe hit him in the side and he swore something broke on impact. He could already feel how wrong that part of his body felt, dully noticing that the pain made him go a little deaf for a few seconds. His body was rocked so hard to his right that he began to spin, while his feet briefly left the ground. Crashing into the wall first, something that induced another wave of pain throughout his frame, he bounced away and rolled across the floor. Somewhere along the way, he had lost the shotgun. As great as the jury-rigged sling was, he really couldn't use it while firing the gun.

It was difficult to breathe and it hurt so badly to move even an inch, but he absolutely had to. It was then that something in him finally broke the surface tension of his numb mind, and it was anger. Deep inside, he completely and utterly snapped. The pain faded into the background and he saw only red. Forcing himself to his feet, he bum-rushed the nurse who had been just about to hit him again, driving her backward and to the floor. Immediately upon impact with the floor, he began punching her in the sides. He ended up on his knees across the wretched thing's chest and driving his fists repeatedly into her face. Grabbing her head, he slammed it down onto the floor and forced his knee between her legs. This was no longer just about killing her, it was about completely dominating her. **She **attacked **him **first, they all attacked him here and he was so sick of being their victim. No, he would make her feel fear like had felt. He would make every single thing he came across here understand what he had been forced to go through. And he was going to start with this thing, **this bitch**, right here and right now.

"Do you like that, you fucking whore!?" he screamed into where her face was supposed to be, getting angrier at the fact that it wasn't there. He drove another fist into her head, which was beginning to bruise in places, screaming profanities at her all the while. His knee was being driven into her repeatedly, an action almost sexual in nature. Sam thought nothing of this, the rational part of his mind being completely locked away. All of his anger and his hurt and his fear (most definitely the fear), they were thoroughly expunged in the damage he did to her, over and over again. Eventually though, he began to grow tired, his body slowly turning to lead. He was aching a little all over, hinting at what was to come when it returned to him one hundred percent. Soon after, he stopped completely, the fury draining from him and his arms falling to his sides in tandem.

Below him, the nurse was dead and the blank slate of her face a twisted pulp of flesh, blood, and bone. Seeing this, he looked at his fists and stared at the blood that coated his hands; it was cold, all of their blood was cold. The breaths that he took began to hurt once more and a groan forced itself out his throat. Sam didn't know if he should laugh, cry, or scream; he was totally lost. He was uncertain if he would be able to feel anything ever again; his emotions were just plain gone. Everything grew a little fuzzy then, a little out of focus. His body started leaning to one side and he fell over the nurse's body to the floor, while his vision faded to black.

* * *

The cold sting of reality shocked him instantly to awareness. He spasmed uncontrollably in pain, his spine arching up and his muscles tensing in reaction to the terrible sensation. It consumed him and all he could do was scream out in agony, spittle flying from his mouth and spraying out around him. Tears flowed out from between his tightly closed eyes and fell down his cheeks in little rivulets.

Sam laid there, time stretching on and on, while his body pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He recognized the need to move, but it was so hard. All he wanted to do was curl up into a tight little ball and cry. His entire being was wounded, from his broken ribs to his mental and emotional states. Inside, deep within his psyche, he was dead. There was little left to take from him, short of his mortal life.

Something needed to be done, so he opened his eyes and rolled over. His legs slid off some object that they had apparently been resting on. He dully noticed that the object in question was, in fact, the dead body of the monstrous nurse. There was no disgust at this discovery, no reaction whatsoever. Without regard to how his ribs felt, he pushed himself to his knees and paid the price with a bone-deep fire in his nerves. A hand went to his side and clutched his ribs tight, holding them still. His breath was forced out of him and he took the brief moment of calm to get to his feet. Hissing in pain, he took a look around.

The room had changed in no significant way, the signs of his fight with the nurse were minimal. Before he did anything else, he would have to tend to his ribs. He slowly and gingerly walked over to the bed and pushed the boxes of crap off the side. He took the flashlight from his jacket pocket and set it on the bed, pointing it toward him. With a grimace of pain, he shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and set it on the bed on the other side. The jacket was the next thing to be removed, sliding down his arms slowly. As it turned out, his new polo shirt was the hardest of them to take off. It took several minutes to get it off and sweat began rolling off his body from the strain. With that done, he unzipped the main pouch of his backpack and pulled out the first aid kit that he had been using earlier. Taking out the one ace bandage it contained, he set it on the bed next to the light and inspected his ribs. After prodding the area with his fingers, he found where it all was emanating from. It didn't exactly feel broken, more like it was sprained.

He wrapped his ribs tightly with the ace bandage, hoping that it would keep them from jostling around. Finishing up, he grabbed his shirt and slid it back on. After suiting back up, he went about looking for his weapon. The shotgun was located near the wall, no further than a few feet from the nurse. Grabbing it and slinging it over his back, he looked at the scattered piles of various trinkets and hoarded junk. Amongst these things, a playing card was visible sticking up into the air. Sam stiffly got down to one knee and plucked the card from it's spot. It was the queen of hearts. There was only one card left to find, before he could try his hand at solving that odd little puzzle.

This room had nothing more for him, so he left. There were a few rooms on the other side of the hall he hadn't checked, so he tried them first. When they proved fruitless, he returned to the hospital's main wing. Other than the day room, which he had no access to, there was a store room and something called the special treatment room. The store room door wouldn't open, so that left one last option, before he would be forced to go back downstairs.

The special treatment room turned out to contain a main chamber with four tiny padded rooms in a line along the far wall. Each cell had a sturdy looking door with a small viewing window set at eye height. Sam saw that the chamber was empty, so he walked over to the closest door and tried the handle. The cell was extremely tiny, little more than a closet really. It stank of shit, piss, and sweat, accompanied by a thick mélange of stains and smears on the floor and walls. Taking a good look, he concluded that there was nothing of interest in here and he moved on to the next room.

He saw that this one was more or less clean, smelling faintly of formaldehyde and sulfur. With nothing to hold his interest, he moved to the next cell. Inside, Sam could see that the floor in here was missing and a complicated network of chains was holding up a body over the chasm in an odd leather bondage suit. The head piece had a zippered opening for the mouth, with something sticking out. It was a playing card. Carefully extracting the card from it's unorthodox resting place, he flipped it over to look at it. It turned out to be the Jack of Diamonds, it's corners torn and frayed around the edges.

Having the five cards he thought he needed, Sam shut the door to the cell and turned to leave. After taking a peek in the fourth and final padded cell (just in case there was anything of use in there), he left the special treatment room. His walk back to room S11 was brisk, as brisk as his battered and aching body could muster, at any rate. Reading the poem again, he took out all five playing cards and studied them. It made no sense; he just wasn't any good at this sort of thing. Sam grabbed one of the old hospital beds, hoped that it wasn't diseased or anything, then sat down on it and stared at the door.

Time stretched on, as he pondered this riddle. He laid out all the cards he collected and studied them. He had the King of Diamonds, the Queen of Hearts, the Six of Clubs, the Jack of Diamonds, and the Three of Spades. Sam's mind kept drawing a blank, unable to figure any of the poem's clues out. There was no frustration in this failing; that had left him along with all other feelings. No, all he had was cold determination, the will to take as long as he needed to take to work this out.

Focusing on the first part of the poem, he recited it in his head. _…and the jewels fell from starless sky, two in all with fire in mind, the lands burned in their hate, laying waste to time and fate. _The jewels had to refer to the King of Diamonds and the Jack of Diamonds, those seemed to be the most likely candidates. Keeping that in mind, he read the first two lines from the second part: _from East to West, the Sun burned red, the farmers fell first, later found dead. _The whole East to West reference had to relate to the order the cards were placed in. Looking at the door, he considered the possibility that the top was designated as North. If that was the case, then it meant that the cards went in from right to left. As for the farmers, he looked at the cards again, his gaze stopping on the Three of Spades. Of all the playing cards, it fit the criteria the most, given that farmers used spades as tools.

Sam set the first card aside and moved on to figuring out the next. The next two lines stated: _the father wet his blade and sat to rest, drinking red wine and only the best. _Instantly, he knew that it had to mean the King of Diamonds. To him, it was the only card that made sense going there. With the second card out of the way, he continued on. _he slaughtered the noblemen, six in all, laughing mad as blood did fall. _Almost cracking a smile, he set aside the Six of Clubs, not concerning himself with how clubs equaled noblemen. The last two lines were pretty self-explanatory after that; _his son betrayed and rose above, beckoned by his mother's love. _

He slid the Three of Spades into the rightmost slot and placed the King of Diamonds in next to it. The next card to go in a slot was the Six of Clubs, followed by the Jack of Diamonds and then the Queen of Hearts. When the last playing card was in completely, a loud click could be heard coming from the door frame. Sam tried the handle and the door swung open, allowing him access inside.

The room was empty, except for a small table and a wooden chair next to it. On the table, was a film projector. It looked very old and was colored puke green, an ancient speaker hooked up behind it. He walked over to it and noticed that it did indeed have a film reel loaded onto the spinner. An indicator light was on, showing that it was being powered, somehow. Sam, feeling like it was what he was supposed to do here, hit the play button.

On the wall, a recording started playing. The sound was polluted with static and the film was grainy with lines running through it. It showed two children playing in a city park, one boy and one girl. Sam noticed that the boy was Brandon, his young face alit with joy. As for the girl, she had long dark hair and wore some sort of school uniform; he wasn't sure if he recognized her or not. They were kicking a ball back and forth, having a lot of fun as they did it. He could hear their childish squeals, as they continued to play. When the girl turned to face the camera, Sam got a flash of an image in his mind. She was the person to step out in front of his car, causing him to crash it. This was the child that led to his present situation.

While he was thinking about that, something happened on screen that he missed. The little girl was on the ground crying and Brandon was standing in front of her, peals of laughter bubbling up uncontrollably from him. Brandon said to the girl, "You see why nobody wants to play with you? It's because you always cry; you're such a baby."

"I am not a baby," she responded, her lips quivering as she said it. "Why'd you have to push me?"

"'Cause you're a witch!" he stated cruelly, his voice loud and carrying out across the park.

"Am not!" she screamed, a whole new deluge of tears falling from her eyes. She covered them with her hands, as she sobbed. "Go away!" the girl yelled out, her voice high-pitched and a little difficult to understand.

Brandon was not to be deterred, however, and continued to yell, "witch! Witch! Witch! Everybody look at the witch!"

The image flickered out and was replaced by another scene. This time, it was set in a playground with school children in uniform running about and playing various games. In the sandbox, there was a solitary girl drawing images of flowers in the sand with a small stick. It was the little dark-haired girl from the last sequence. He noticed that the other children stayed away from her and didn't seem to even look over in her direction. The girl was humming some nameless tune to herself, moving her head side to side to some soundless beat.

Coming in from the left-hand side of the screen, Brandon was tossing a baseball into the air and catching it, his attention solely on this activity. He overshot his throw and the baseball landed in the middle of the sandbox, startling the girl. Once Brandon spotted her, he ran over and kicked sand into her face. The girl began coughing, before jumping to her feet and wiping the sand off her uniform.

Brandon said, "what's the matter, Alessa? Don't you like sand?"

Sam's ears perked up at that. He recalled Dr. Kaufman mentioning her as some sort of vessel for this being named, Samael. With more interest, he watched the events on-screen unfold.

Brandon got up real close, his proximity visibly intimidating Alessa. He said, "I thought witches liked sand." Laughter erupted from him at his own lame joke. Some of the other kids started to pay attention. Alessa burst into tears, her very being shriveling up on itself at the treatment. "Witch!" he yelled, getting everyone's attention. "Witch! Witch! Witch!" he chanted, a smug grin marring his youthful features.

Soon, the other schoolchildren were chanting it as well, their faces twisted into cruel and ugly expressions of mockery. This continued for some time, before, the screen started to fade out and turned to static along with the audio.

It all made sense now, to him. That girl, Alessa, was the reason he crashed. She had to have been the figure in the fog he had been chasing after when he first got to Silent Hill. Alessa must've known his relation to Brandon, that he was his brother. The truth of the matter was so simple, with such a childish logic about it. Sam, as the older brother was the best candidate to put his bully of a younger brother in place. All she wanted was for him and the other children to stop picking on her, such a plain and pure desire.

Eventually, Sam started to feel the urge to move on, but was uncertain of where he was going to go to next. There had to be some new hoop for him to jump through, if he was being led around by Alessa to serve as her protector. The thought seemed strange to him, seeing as how he was struggling to keep himself protected, let alone some girl who had a deep connection with this place. How was he supposed to do that?

Sam left room S11, a little lost again without a specific destination. The only thing he could think to do was search around and hopefully find some clue. With that as his current agenda, he started walking down the hall. As he passed by the elevator, he heard a noise coming from that direction. It was the mechanical clanking of the elevator cab moving. A dinging noise was heard, shortly before the doors slid open. He waited a moment for something or someone to exit the elevator and when nothing did, he went over to investigate.

It was empty, nothing waiting for him inside the cab. Sam cautiously entered and looked over at the control panel. There were no floor levels indicated, just a button indicating up and another below it indicating down. After pushing the up button and getting no result, he pushed the down button and the doors slid shut. The cab started descending, taking him somewhere off the map.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: I had issues with the action described in the first half of this chapter. Even after rewriting it a few times, I'm still not satisfied with it. But, I felt that I could do no better, so I'm presenting it anyway. I know a couple people put this story on their alert list, but I don't know if anyone is still actually reading it. If you are, please review and let me know what you thought of it. I don't care if you tell me it sucks -that would be fine - I just want to know how it was received. Thank you for your time and on with the story.

* * *

Chapter 8: A Star In the Morning

The elevator had been going down for quite awhile now, taking him to extreme depths. Inside, he was leaning against the back wall, his eyes resolutely fixed on the doors. His mind was running constantly with what he had learned. Alessa had apparently taken it upon herself to employ him as the one to discipline Brandon, to make him pay for treating her so poorly. He wondered how this could even remotely be considered fair, coming up with nothing to justify it. As it was, though, there was nothing he could do about it. Another factor he felt obligated to acknowledge was that he had come here on his own to find the truth. It stood to reason that he would've found himself in this very same hell, if he hadn't been targeted by Alessa. Still, it didn't change the fact that she seemed to be asking a very tall order from him.

Thinking of Brandon, some part of him buried deep inside, stirred. He wanted to track down his newly discovered brother and get to know him better. If he could take Brandon away from here, then maybe Alessa would approve of that and let him go. At that thought, something else surfaced in his mind. What about Charlie, the third triplet; the one nobody had expected or wanted? Sam sighed, knowing he still had a personal responsibility centered on this stupid town. The rate this whole thing was going at, he wondered if he would ever get to leave.

Time, which had passed at an unknowable speed, flowed on and on, his elevator ride seeming to never end. It was getting a little tiring to wait for it to reach the bottom. That didn't stop him from keeping his gaze focused -without distraction -on the doors, though. Just then, the cab ground to a halt, a horrendous sound emitting from the brakes. The cab shook terribly, before coming to a complete stop. A moment later, the doors slid open and got stuck at about the halfway point. Seeing as they weren't going to be moving either way any time soon, he squeezed through and took a look at where he had ended up.

Sam found himself in what looked to be a morgue; bodies were stacked up on a series of open steel shelves along the walls. There were several gurneys in neatly aligned rows throughout the room, shrouded bodies placed reverently on top of them. The room reeked of burnt and rotting flesh, cloying and stagnant in the uncirculated air. Even in his listless state, he had a hard time resisting the urge to vomit. In one corner, a furnace was burning furiously away, making the room hot and muggy.

The ceiling above was vaulted and his light barely caught it's upper element. Steel girders were interlaced about a quarter of the way up, a series of halogen lights dangling from them. The floor was concrete and stained with a severe amount of blood, all of it centered around the drains. It reminded him of that examination room with the sheet that had the message on it. He walked between the rows of bodies, looking for a door that would get him out of this forbidden place. As it was, he wasn't even sure if he was still in that strange Otherworld, or if everything had gone to what passes for normal around here. Sam didn't see anything with extreme deposits of rust coating it, so that was a pretty good sign. Still, he didn't want to commit himself to a belief on that.

About halfway through the room, he heard something that made him freeze. It was the loud sound of something large and metallic being drug across the concrete floor. The blood in his veins grew cold, close to frozen. Ever so slowly turning around, he saw it standing imperiously in his light. It was that damned thing that he had taken to calling Pyramid Head in his mind.

Pyramid Head was standing there, no more than five feet from his position. Apparently, it had been lurking in the shadows somewhere, staying out of sight. Sam raised the shotgun and aimed it at the monster, his grip steady and calm. Last time, he had barely made it out of a confrontation with this thing with his life. There was no room for mistakes in this situation. They stood there for a long time, neither making a single move.

After that little stretch of inactivity, both of them burst into action at once. It launched itself forward with surprising speed, while Sam fired off a shot. The sound rang out loud and powerful, deafening him momentarily. The buckshot slammed into it, blood and flesh flying away from the site. That didn't even come close to slowing it down any, it's body still propelling itself forward at a steady clip. Gurneys and dead bodies were forced aside, smashing into the gurneys in the next row over, as it charged through them. Sam knew that he only had a couple seconds before it reached him, choosing to dive out of the way when it did.

Both hands were gripping that enormous blade, as it was hitching it up onto it's shoulder. He saw a body fly clear of the next row over and smash right into the middle of four more gurneys, sending them rolling in all directions. Pyramid Head brought the blade up, arcing it through the air and using the weight of it to increase the speed and damage. Sam jumped away, rolling over a dead body and taking it with him onto it's side. The body ended up laying on top, it's limbs splayed around him in a macabre hug. He could hear the loud screech of the blade slicing through one of the girders on it's way to his prior location. His blood pumping fast, Sam pushed the body off of him and got to his feet.

Pyramid Head was dragging the blade back, while turning to face him once more. He pumped the shotgun again and fired, hitting it in where the spleen would be and getting the same non-reaction. This was starting to feel really futile and fear, something he had lost track of with his other emotions, made a grand re-entrance. Panic crept through his body, threatening to paralyze him completely. Looking around desperately for some way out of this, he spotted an opening in the wall to a corridor. It appeared to go around the corner and hug the wall to the room he was in.

As his only option currently, he made a mad dash for the hallway and ducking just in time to avoid getting decapitated as it swung the blade horizontally. He could feel the strong breeze it generated and heard the accompanying whistle. Getting back up, he continued his run to his only chance at salvation. A loud metallic groan echoed out through the room, sounding unlike anything he had heard outside of an action flick. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the girder that Pyramid Head had cut through was losing the fight to hold the structure up; the ceiling was about to collapse.

Sam just barely made it around the corner, when he heard the girders buckling under the strain and the lattice work of support failed. The sound of the ceiling crashing down was one of the loudest noises he ever heard. It made his ears ring in pain, while his body was thrown to the floor from the thunderous trembling caused by the ceiling meeting the floor. He got up when he was certain that it was done and poked his head around the corner to see the result.

It looked like a bomb had gone off, with twisted girders and chunks of concrete laying everywhere in the room. Bodies could be spotted all over the place, since the large shelves containing the majority of them had all been knocked over. Pyramid Head wasn't even visible; the area it had been in was buried in steel and concrete. He turned away and started down the hall. Sam had gotten a little further down, spotting a door at the far end, when the sound of rubble shifting got his attention. Just then, the giant blade burst through the wall directly in front of him, cutting through the steel wall like it was butter. He ducked barely in time, as the blade sawed through the wall in his direction.

Doing an impromptu somersault, one that probably could've looked a little smoother than he made it, Sam got to his feet and started running down the hall toward the door at top speed. He ran so fast, his body smashed uncontrollably into the door frame when he reached it. The pain was manageable, so he threw the door open and ducked inside. Turning back to see what was happening, he saw the blade cutting through more of the wall, creating an opening.

He turned his attention back to the room he had gone into. The room was large and rectangular in shape, with a series of stainless steel counters covered in blood. Blood, he noticed dimly, was a constant theme with this place; it was hard to tell if it was for effect or if it was because incredibly terrible things had actually happened here. Racks were set up over each counter, a large collection of knives and various dangerous implements were hanging from them. He had no time to guess at what this room had been used for, since he could hear the tell-tale sound of that cruel giant sword scraping against cement. That thing had gotten free and was coming after him again.

Looking around, he quickly spotted the exit and, of course, it was on the exact opposite end of the room. Still, it would provide him with some decent obstacles to get between him and Pyramid Head. Sam ran down the nearest aisle and turned around the corner, tripping over something in the process. He went flying and crashed to the floor, the shotgun getting knocked out of his hands. Pain shot through him from his entire collection of injuries, his ribs giving him the worst of it. The torturous sound of metal being torn by metal rang out, pervading the entire room.

Without giving it another second, he pushed himself back up and looked back. It had sheared off the top half of one end of the counter and was deftly making it's way over the twisted lump of the bottom half. As it was doing that, it was preparing to swing at the next counter. Sam continued for the door at the far end, the pain from the fall making him slower now. It wasn't much longer before he heard the next counter being cut apart.

He finally reached the door after an agonizing journey toward it, yanking it open ferociously. There was a short hallway on the other side, leading to a solitary elevator at the far end. Sam ran over there, frantically jabbing the call button over and over again. The sound of tearing steel was getting louder, his pursuer ever closer to him. All the while, the elevator cab was taking it's time in reaching this floor. He pounded on the doors in frustration, the composure that he had been forced with earlier, shattering completely. Soon, the sound of steel countertops being sliced off was replaced by the familiar metal on concrete. Time was running out for him to escape, so he pulled out the hand gun in desperation.

Sam faced the hallway and the door that his death was coming through, thinking of Greg and his chainsaw killer avatar just then. The odd pyramid-shaped crown that he had come to fear, entered his field of vision, poking through the open doorway. This was it; there was nowhere to run to, no way to escape. The elevator still didn't sound like it was anywhere close to reaching him, his would-be way out failing him in his moment of deep need. With the gun aimed at the incoming Pyramid, he tried to steady his nerves and not having much luck at it.

It was fully inside the hall now and turning to face him. Sam started firing, putting every single bullet in the clip into it's body. Not a single shot missed it's mark, some pegging it right in the legs. None of them made a single bit of distance though, the monstrosity moving steadily in his direction. He was out of all options, his death was assured. The elevator still sounded too far up, offering him no reprieve. A great deep hurt filled him inside and the knowledge that he was facing the end came with it. A single tear streaked down his face, as he lost the last of his hope and was made to accept complete and total despair. Throwing the empty gun at it, he let his body slide down the slick elevator doors until he hit the floor.

The grinding noise of the sword stopped, as it reached him, a deep cavernous silence washing in like a tidal wave. Pyramid Head lifted the sword up onto it's shoulder, the muscles of it's body tensing to swing it downward upon him. He lifted his arms instinctively, shielding his body. Sam could hear the swish of the blade as it cut through the air, his eyes clenching so he wouldn't have to see it happen.

It never came; he was still alive. For a full second, he refused to crack open a single eye to see why he hadn't died. Finally getting it into him to look, he opened his eyes and saw something amazing. _Like the washing machine, _he thought, seeing the blade frozen in midair. Tony had mentioned this ability to him when he was burying him alive and he recalled a few other occasions where it had occurred, as well. Sam had access to strange powers and the Devil just didn't give them to him and take them away, he only took credit for it.

Taking some initiative, Sam experimentally shoved back with his mind and Pyramid Head was launched backward across the hall in response. At that moment, the elevator bell rang and the doors slid open, causing Sam to fall back inside. He kicked at the floor, pushing himself into the elevator completely. Springing to his feet, he pushed the up button on the control panel and the doors started to slide shut. Through the narrowing gap between the doors, he could see that it was coming for him again. It was too late though, as the doors closed and the cab began ascending. He was safe.

* * *

As it was with the last elevator, this one took forever to get to it's destination. In this time, he sat on the floor with his back to the wall. Sam's mind and his very soul felt raw, as if someone had taken a wire brush to his psyche and scrubbed it to nothing. Tears flowed freely from his eyes and he felt nothing but total anguish. He had gone into that damned hospital for knowledge, having found it with a whole lot more on top. So much had happened in there, and in Silent Hill in general, that he was certain he would never recover from it. The pain and suffering this place caused was unimaginable; it had cut into him and removed a piece of his humanity.

It went beyond facing his own mortality, beyond the things he had witnessed, it was what he had turned into in there that utterly destroyed him. When he was killing those nurses, he was starting to enjoy it and with one, he practically tried to rape her in his fury. Disgust and self-loathing settled in when he thought of that, consuming him thoroughly. Just then, the elevator ground to a halt and the bell chimed. A second after that, the doors opened up and he could already tell that he was above ground.

The elevator let out into a smallish building, windows letting in outside light from the far end. Getting to his feet, he stepped out and looked around the place he had ended up in. It was a single room structure filled with tools and equipment of all sorts. This place must've been some sort of maintenance shop, possibly for the hospital. It didn't explain the elevator to that weird morgue/kitchen he had come close to death in. His stomach went a little sour at doing the math on that odd room combination, coming up with an extremely sick conclusion.

He started poking around the place, mindful of his injuries and his precarious mental state. The entire room was covered in a thick blanket of dust. Sam searched the place over, finding nothing of interest, except for a large heavy-duty pickaxe. Taking it, he left the shop and tried to get his bearings outside. The fog was as thick as ever, something that didn't really come as a shock to him. He pulled out the town map and looked it over, noticing how dirty and smudged it was with blood and grime. There was nothing on it that showed him where he was, nothing at all. Thinking it over, he realized that he couldn't have been too far from the hospital, but the map showed a drastically different set up from the one he found himself in, so he wasn't sure.

The shop was set in the side of a massive culvert, leading him to wonder what it's purpose was. To the right, the way was blocked off by a giant sluice gate, giving him only one direction to go in. Both sides were unclimbable, being straight vertical lines up about fifteen feet high. Sam, sighing, started to walk down it, his new weapon clutched tightly in his hands. He could hardly see ten feet out in front of him, making his way down an indistinct frame created by the culvert walls. Without any scenery around him, he couldn't help but feel that he wasn't making any progress. It really did seem like he was walking on a treadmill, doomed to travel it forever without getting anywhere.

Sam tried not to let his mind wander, fearing the path that would take him on. He needed to stay focused on putting one foot in front of the other and just repeating that action until he got to where he was supposed to be. There was no doubt that this walk would get him to the proper destination, but he had no way to tell how long it would take to get there. His body was sore and his muscles on the verge of a major catastrophic failure. Exhaustion was making his legs and his eyes heavy, the urge to stop and rest close to irresistible right then. But, he had to keep going, there were no breaks for him anymore.

As he walked further, the culvert started to slowly curve to the left. It was running noticeably downhill now and he could see growing collections of wet spots on the cracked cement basin. At first, he gave it no further consideration, not thinking of what it could have to do with him. When the culvert straightened out again, he was stopped in his tracks at the sight of what was in front of him.

Water had collected along this portion of the culvert, completely blockading the path. He could see, just barely, that the culvert continued underneath some sort of enclosure, possibly a bridge. It was difficult to make out in the fog, being at the outer threshold of his limited vision. The water was murky and filled with trash, a faint scent of decay rising from it. Sam didn't think the water was very deep, but was a little reluctant to find out. While it seemed a little ridiculous to be stopped by a bit of water after having gone through so much, he was still forced to stop and think about it for awhile.

Sam stood there awkwardly for several minutes, feeling more and more foolish as he did. This was getting stupid and he decided to force himself to take a step in the water. It came up to the top of his soles, not yet high enough to soak through his shoes. Taking a couple more steps, the water got slightly deeper and he could feel the water on his feet now. The water was ice cold and irritated him, but he managed to keep himself from chickening out and started marching through the stagnant pool.

By the time he got to the enclosure, the water was up to his knees. Inside, it was preternaturally dark and the smell of decay intensified greatly. He realized then that his flashlight had been on and he had forgotten to switch it off. The beam of the light appeared dim and had a hard time illuminating anything. Sam took it out of his pocket and slipped his backpack off his shoulders. Holding it in one hand, he unzipped the bag and rummaged through the contents. After a full minute of digging through the things he had collected, he finally found what he was looking for. Way back in time, shortly after he had woken up on that city bench in front of the police station, he had found a few items to take with him that had value in their functions. One of the items he grabbed was a pack of batteries for his flashlight, something he had taken only as an afterthought; this was what he was looking for. It was a little awkward, shuffling everything around, as he changed out the batteries in the light. Eventually, he finished the task and put everything back where they belonged, before moving forward.

About midway through, he saw something that dropped his spirit into somewhere around his stomach. Steel bars were poking up out of the ground and connecting with the roof of the enclosure, blocking his path any further. He had come to a dead end, a fact that infuriated him deeply. If he was supposed to get somewhere specific, then he was not being given a clear path to it. Sam slowly spun around, looking for something, anything, to tell him what to do next. Looking all over, he discovered some sort of hatch on the side. It wasn't tall enough for someone to stand in, but if he ducked down it would be sufficient. All he had to do was open it and see if it even led anywhere at all.

Sam walked over to the hatch and saw that it had a padlock on it. Looking down at the pickaxe he was carrying, he lifted it up and brought it down on the lock. His first strike missed the lock entirely, digging a severe scratch in the white paint of the steel door. He gave it another try and struck it dead on, but only managed to make a pock mark in it. After a few more attempts, he finally knocked the lock off. The hatch swung open slowly, revealing a shallow cramped space on the other side. Metal bars were poking out of the concrete, making rungs for a ladder.

Crouching down, he slipped inside and looked up. Light was shining down faintly from the top, revealing a tight passage up. Sam awkwardly began climbing up the ladder, having difficulties with the pickaxe on the way up. It took awhile, but he eventually reached the top. Sam swung open the hatch above, thankful that it wasn't also locked up like the one at the bottom. He set the pickaxe on the ground and climbed up the rest of the way.

Grabbing the weapon, he got to his feet and took a look around. He was standing next to a small bridge along a gravel road, surrounded by woods. On the other side of the bridge was a sign, but he couldn't make out what it said. Walking across, he saw that the sign read: Pleasant Valley Children's Care Home. It was an orphanage, he realized, some connection being made in his mind at that. Brandon, Charlie, they were here, his long lost brothers. Sam wanted nothing more than to take them out of here, to take them with him. Logically, he knew that they should be his age, but Brandon was inexplicably years younger than him. It was something he hoped to have cleared up at some point in the near future.

Not feeling nearly as lost as he did before, Sam followed the road up into the woods. The path was windy and long, leading him to wonder why an orphanage was built in the middle of nowhere. While curious, he didn't think it was really all that important, not when he was so close to his objective. He needed to focus and keep his eyes on the prize, not let himself get distracted by such details.

Sam rounded a corner and came upon the orphanage. It was large and ugly, the paint peeling and the eaves sagging drastically over the sides. This must've been a bad place to grow up in, his heart going out to Charlie, who he figured was sent here after he was born. This entire situation angered him, how the whole universe seemed out to completely screw him over. What did he do wrong? Did God hate him? It all seemed so unfair, a flaw in an otherwise perfect system that had singled him out and brought his life to ruins. Hatred and bitterness threatened to consume him, something that had been threatening him ever since his 21st birthday. Sam never spoke of this to Sock or Ben, not wanting to burden them with his issues anymore than he already did. Plus, Sock was notoriously unsympathetic to other people's problems, and Sam was no exception to that rule.

He walked passed a small playground, the equipment rusting away from disuse. A jungle gym about six feet in height was bent on one side, leaning awkwardly toward the building. The steps up the porch creaked dangerously underfoot, as he walked up to the front door. Sam grabbed the handle and was about to open it.

"Sure you wanna go in there, Sammy?"

Sam froze in place, a cold sensation crept through his nerves when he heard that voice. His heart pounded as his blood pumped furiously. He slowly turned around in the direction where the voice came from. Leaning against that jungle gym he had just passed by, was a familiar face, one that had a special breed of hate that Sam kept reserved for it's owner. From his beautifully polished shoes to his perfectly coiffed hair, the Devil was looking as classy as ever with that trademarked grin plastered wide across his tanned features.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Writing this chapter was a nightmare, but revising it was hell. I have had serious issues with characterization and describing the action, amongst other smaller issues. And over all, I'm still not all that happy with it. Please R&R, if it suits you.

* * *

Chapter 9: Hymns of the Otherworld

"You son of a bitch," said Sam, his voice tired and resigned.

"To be fair, Sam," said the Devil, that smug grin still painted on, "I believe that you're the son of the bitch between the two of us. Considering all that you learned about your birth, you should see the logic in that."

Sam ignored the slight against his mother, not having much sympathy for her at the moment. "Why are y…" He paused, trying to find the words he needed for this conversation. "I have no idea what to say to you, right now."

"Oh Sammy, just looking at you, the way you're carrying yourself, like some sort of warrior. Man did you get that good old-fashioned Silent Hill treatment." The Devil let out a laugh, before saying, "Isn't this place wonderful? A bit melodramatic at times, I admit, but it has a certain charm to it, don't you think?"

"Fuck you," said Sam, drawing out the words and putting as much hate as he could into them.

"Sammy," said the Devil, "that's not nice. That doesn't sound like you at all. You seem a little tense." He stopped for a second to think. "I know, there's this place over in Brahams where you can get a great burger. I'm telling you, it's the size of your head, and the waitresses there…well, you get my drift. Come on, my treat." The look on the Devil's face was so plaintive and honest that he almost let himself get tricked by it

"You're unbelievable, you know that? I get put through the fuckin' meat grinder and all you can talk about is getting a burger!?" Sam yelled, frothing mad.

"No burger?" asked the Devil, sounding disappointed. "I guess you just want to get down to business. Well, I don't know what to tell you, Sammy."

"How about you start with the fact that I was a triplet and we can just go from there?" Sam was already getting sick of his presence.

"It's really quite simple. I wanted you to be born somewhere special, somewhere you could get a good start. The demon Samael had a plan to take form on Earth; he was worshipped as a god by this cult, a bunch of morons that thought they were creating Heaven. The cult was responsible for making his vessel, the body he would take, and they arranged it so that a child would be used as the vessel."

"Alessa," said Sam.

"Exactly. So, they had their messiah, but Sammy –the other Sammy –wanted a back up. Demon are generally big on paranoia, so it makes sense. That's where I stepped in and made a deal with him. I would have you born here and he would get the excess."

Sam interrupted here, saying, "excess? You mean Brandon."

"Yes, Brandon," the Devil smiled saying that name. "It was a great deal, because he can actually negotiate. I guess it probably helps when you don't have a soul to begin with, though. Well, as you can tell, everything went alright and we got what we wanted from it. Now, do you want to get that burger, knock back a few beers?"

"I want to know about Charlie. How did he figure into things? Dr. Kaufman told me that you had no clue that we were triplets."

The Devil's expression darkened considerably at the mention of Charlie. "I don't want to talk about that **thing**. But, I will say that it is no longer an issue, thanks to Brandon."

"What about Brandon?" asked Sam, a cold feeling lodged in his gut.

"That little scamp, upon learning about Charlie, took care of him quite nicely. But he is a growing boy, after all."

"W,what?" asked Sam, his heart breaking at hearing this.

"Oh yeah, I don't want to get into the details, but it was quite an imaginative display. The sort of thing that, if anyone had witnessed it, they would have been driven quite mad."

"You're lying!" shouted Sam, unbelievably devastated by what was said. Tears were brimming around his eyes, threatening to fall.

"Perhaps, but you just don't know, now do you? Regardless, I refuse to discuss this any further, Sam. Now, what about that burger?" said the Devil, staring intensely at him.

"You can take your Godamned burger and shove it up your fuckin' ass!" Sam screamed, the urge to use his new pickaxe almost overwhelming. He was furious over everything that the Devil had just told him and he couldn't control his breathing. This was something he had forgotten about talking to Satan in the time he had off, his ability to completely get under your skin. The worst part of it was that he knew that there was really nothing he could in direct retaliation to the demon, nothing of any effect. "I do not want to go anywhere with you; I want to find my family, the family you took away from me!"

"I **took** from you? Sam, I didn't take anything from you. You belong to me and, therefore, have no possessions of your own. I've let you go on thinking that you have some liberties up till now, because I thought things would go easier if you didn't grasp the truth entirely. But at the bottom of it, you have nothing and you are nothing."

"So that's it then, huh? I'm just a thing on your shelf; what else is new?"

"Let's move on, shall we? Seeing as you don't want to go have a burger, will you at least have a cigarette with me?" At this, the Devil produced a pack of Marlboros from his pocket and a fancy golden lighter.

"I don't smoke," said Sam, a little confused by the non-sequitor.

"Sammy, until recent events, you never dry-humped a faceless nurse wielding a lead pipe, while you were in the throes of pure madness, either. It seems like a time of experimentation for you." Satan said this while pulling out a couple smokes and holding one out to Sam.

After a few seconds of internal debate, Sam eventually caved and took the offered cigarette. He placed it between his lips and leaned over when the Devil held up the lighter to light the smoke. It was harsh and awful, forcing a deep cough that made his ribs flare in pain. But the feeling of it in his lungs for that brief moment was wonderful.

"Careful there, Champ. Gotta be careful with your injuries, right?" Satan took a puff of his own smoke, exhaling it slowly. The smoke made intricate swirls in the air, before disappearing into the fog.

"What about Alessa?" asked Sam suddenly, smoke trailing out his mouth as he said this.

"What about her?"

"Well, how does she figure into it all? She led me to believe that she wanted me here for a purpose, but given what you just told me, that doesn't make a whole lot of sense." Sam took another drag of his smoke, finding himself actually enjoying it.

"Sometimes, I forget how dim you can be Sammy. Little Alessa merely took advantage of an opportunity presented to her, when you came rolling into town. Try not to read too much into her actions, she's a child and doesn't want be bullied anymore. You remember what it was like, don't you Sammy? Remember when, what's his name –Brian Sandusky –used to pick on you in middle school?"

"Yeah, he would glue my locker door shut and sneak stink bombs in my lunches," said Sam, uncomfortable with this trip down memory lane.

"Well, think back to how you felt back then. What would you have done to get him to stop?" asked the Devil, obviously leading him somewhere on this.

"Anything," admitted Sam, releasing a sigh.

"Exactly. She wants you to play Big Brother Sam and get him to stop, perhaps even get rid of him for her. Alessa is using you, like a tool, to solve her own problems. You don't owe her anything, Sammy, just ignore her."

"I can't ignore this, not when it involves my own flesh and blood. Look, I came for answers, answers that I couldn't trust to get from you. But, the truth is, there's a price for those answers and I've gotta pay that price." Sam took another long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling.

"Sam, he's your brother and you feel some sort of responsibility to him, I get that. But, honestly, you don't owe him anything either. I urge you to think about this: do you really want to go in there and face him? You might not like what you find." The Devil had a look of concern on his face.

"It doesn't matter; I have to go in there. I have to finish this," said Sam, dropping the cigarette to the ground, before stamping it out with the heel of his shoe.

He walked back to the front door, opened it, and stepped inside the orphanage. Sam neither saw the grin that appeared on the Devil's face, nor heard him whisper the words: "that's my boy."

* * *

Inside, he found himself in a large foyer, a grand staircase curving up to the second floor. Sam noticed how dreary everything looked in here and was glad that he never had to grow up in this place. It brought his thoughts to Charlie and he wondered what it was about him that got the Devil all riled up. What did he signify, that Satan was taken by surprise by his existence? He couldn't make a single connection that would explain any of it. For the time being, it was a mystery he was unable to solve and decided to let it go.

He started wandering around the place, not bothering to pay attention to his surroundings. The first floor was made up largely of a massive kitchen and some offices. Sam found nothing of interest, except for one thing; in their records office, he found no files or anything whatsoever on Charlie. _Maybe, his name was changed,_ he thought, trying to wrap his mind around what that could mean. Seeing nothing more for him down here, he moved on upstairs.

The second story consisted of four large dorm rooms and a communal bath. Each dorm had ten bunk beds, with five in a row along both walls. Sam inspected every single area, hoping to find something that would indicate where Charlie slept. The first dorm was a bust, nothing showing that any of the kids who had lived here were even allowed to personalize their space. He searched through the remaining three, coming up with nothing. He was a little frustrated that he didn't have anything to show for his investigation.

A look at the third floor proved a little more fruitful. There were two more dorm rooms up here, both smaller than the dorms downstairs. Six bunks filled each room, their beddings perfectly made. It was as if no one had ever really lived in these dorms, that they had remained empty over the years. Dust coated everything in a fine film, motes of it wafting lazily through the air. The first room was searched and discounted as unhelpful, leading him to the other room. In here, he found little difference from the last, his hopes sinking to rock bottom. Was he missing something? Was there a room he didn't search, or a portion of one he overlooked? Sam inspected the bunks and finally found something of interest.

On the underside of the top bunk of one of the beds, words were carved into the wood. They were written almost like a journal, a series of small snippets with corresponding dates. They stated:

4/09/94 – First day here. Everyone is mean to me and I want to go home. Why did mommy leave me?

4/11/94 – That mean lady who cleans the rooms told me that mommy hated me and I was evil. I tried not to cry, but it was so hard.

4/29/94 – Joey told me about that kid Charlie, who lives downstairs. I knew we always looked like each other, but us brothers? I don't know about that.

5/11/94 – That little witch, Alessa, told me we were special. I told her that I hated her and she was stupid. Talked to Charlie and I hate him. Everyone here likes him, but I think he's stupid.

9/07/94 – I just got let out of the hole. I don't care about Charlie and I'm glad he's gone.

Sam let out a breath, his nerves keeping him on edge. Brandon stayed here, as well, it seemed. It was hard to figure out what had happened from what little information there was written. He surmised that Brandon was dropped off at the orphanage when he was about seven by whoever was supposed to be taking care of him. Apparently, at some point Brandon did something to Charlie that got him punished. That last entry mentioned something called 'the hole.' It must've been used for discipline, but what was it? Perhaps more importantly, where was it? Thinking it over, he concluded that it had to be located in the basement.

He recalled briefly spotting a narrow door at one end of the kitchen. At the time, he figured it to be a closet or a pantry and passed it by. Heading back downstairs, he reached the first floor and went straight to the kitchen. The door did indeed open up to a flight of stairs leading down. Taking them slowly, he turned on his flashlight again.

At the bottom was another door, which opened out into a medium-sized room. Boxes and old furniture were packed everywhere, filling the space almost completely. It stank of mildew and moth balls down here. He could see a door to his left and a narrow hallway extending out to his right. Choosing the door first, he opened it up to find a small office. The purpose of this office eluded him, with nothing visible to indicate what it was used for. After looking through it for a moment, he saw nothing that would constitute as a hole and moved on.

Next up was the hallway, which led to two doors. The first door was up on the left and the second was located down at the end. Sam tried the closest door first, finding himself in a utility room of some sort. There was a boiler and a furnace located in here, with a few boxes stacked up in one of the corners. He was about to leave, when he heard it. It sounded like someone was sniffling, the noise they were making just barely audible. Poking around the room, he tried to find where it was coming from. His search led him to the space behind the furnace, where he could see a small door in the wall. It wasn't exactly hidden, but it was most definitely out of view.

Sam could hear the sniffling much better and could tell that someone was crying from the other side of the door. It sounded like a child, or at least someone young. He opened the door and poked his head inside. The room was small and cramped, sunken down a few steps from the entrance. It was made entirely of concrete, with a small pile of rags stuffed in the corner that was obviously used as a bed. A small figure was visible huddled up against the far wall, their head pressed into their knees.

The door creaked on it's hinges, getting the other person's attention. The figure lifted their head, revealing that it was Brandon. "Oh, it's you," said the boy. "Go away."

Sam, ignoring the boy's demand, entered the room and approached him. "Hi Brandon," he said softly, "what's wrong?"

"Nothin,' I don't wanna talk."

"Brandon, I think we **do** need to have a talk." Sam sat himself down on the floor next to the kid, setting the pickaxe against the wall next to him.

"'Bout what?" asked Brandon, looking a little curious.

"Well, it's about your parents, your birth parents. Do you know who they are?" Sam knew he needed to be careful here, but was uncertain how else to approach the topic. He was just so inexperienced at dealing with children and could only wing it.

"I know they left me when I was born and that I have two brothers."

"Yes. You see, Brandon, I'm one of your brothers. Did you know that?"

Brandon, not looking anywhere but at the floor, said, "yeah, I knew."

"Okay," said Sam, "that's good. Where have you been staying all this time? Was it here?" he asked, hoping to have that mystery solved.

"Sometimes I do. But I sometimes stay at the school." Brandon's voice was dropped to just above a whisper.

"It must get awful lonely, being here all by yourself. Do you miss having anyone around?" Sam asked, trying to avoid the topic of Alessa.

Brandon only nodded in response, not wanting or unable to articulate a response.

"Listen, Brandon, I know that it must've been hard being alone all this time. You're adoptive parents left you and then everyone left, didn't they?"

"Y,yeah," responded the young boy, his voice hitched with sobs. The loneliness and the emotional pain radiated off him like it was a physical presence. Sam could feel his eyes watering at this, himself.

"Would you like to leave here and, maybe, come with me?" This was it; it all came down to this. No thought was given to how he would be able to look after a young boy, considering how hard of a time he had looking after himself.

"Really?" asked Brandon, lifting his head to look at Sam. The hopefulness in his gaze cut Sam to his very core.

"Yes, really." He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"You wouldn't leave me, like the others?"

"No Brandon, I promise I will never leave you." The moment he said it, Sam knew it to be the truth.

Brandon suddenly launched himself at Sam, wrapping his arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. He was crying openly, loud and unrestrained. "Thank you, so much," he whispered, his face buried in Sam's neck. Sam put his arms around Brandon's back and rubbed it soothingly. "I've been s,so l,lonely. I just wanna stop being alone," he continued.

"I know," said Sam, "I know. It's gonna be alright now, okay?" He made shushing sounds as Brandon cried out all his pain and anguish onto his shoulder. While doing this made him feel all sorts of awkward, he knew it was important. This little boy, his brother, had been completely and utterly abandoned by everybody, a victim of the cruel plans of others. Sam thought back to all the times in the past when he had plenty of time and opportunity to find his lost brother and rescue him, feeling like a world-class failure for not doing it. Logically, he knew that it wasn't his fault that he had to suffer, not having known anything of Brandon's existence back then. In his mind though, logic took a back seat to martyrdom.

Several minutes passed by without either of them saying a word, Brandon having long since grown quiet. He clutched at Sam as if he were some sort of lifeline, his grip on him unwavering. At the moment, Sam couldn't think of another place he wanted to be. All the pain and suffering he had endured in this hell, was worth it to be able to find his brother and be with him. His thoughts turned to Kyle, how he needed to reconcile his differences with him at some point in the future. There was nothing worse than having family that you never talked to, nothing at all. For now though, this was a good start. "How about we get out of here, okay?"

"Okay," said Brandon, lifting his head to look Sam in the eyes.

"Alright then, but I have one more thing to ask you," said Sam, not realizing how dangerous of a mistake he had just made.

"What's that?"

"Could you tell me about Charlie? What happened to him?" Sam didn't want to leave this place a brother short.

Brandon tensed noticeably in his arms, his body going stiff and rigid. He suddenly got up and backed away, his eyes alit with new-found suspicion. "Why do ya wanna talk about **him?**" he asked, his emphasis on the word 'him' expressing extreme dislike.

"Well, I would like to take him with us, too. He's our brother, Brandon, he needs to come with."

"I thought you were different from all the others, but you're just the same. Everyone likes him so much, even you. I hate him!" Brandon quickly darted out of the room.

"Brandon, wait!" Sam shouted, getting up and grabbing his pickaxe. He ran out after his brother, hoping to catch up with him.

"Leave me alone!" Brandon screamed, sounding further away than Sam thought he would be.

Sam left the utility room and started down the hall to the stairs, not noticing how everything was changing around him. It wasn't until he reached the staircase, did he see what was happening. It was as if the world around him was flying away like ash from a campfire. Flakes of wall and floor started floating up into the air before disappearing, the spots they came from looking darker and more vile underneath. He knew what was happening the instant he noticed it. This place was transforming before his eyes into that horrible Otherworld and he was going with it.

The boxes and the furniture that were being stored in this room started to dissolve and break apart, leaving nothing behind. Looking up the flight of stairs, he saw the walls dissipating and they ended up reaching upward into an empty darkness. He turned around to see that they way he had come had completely vanished, the edge falling off into the abyss. It took a good minute for the transformation to take place, Sam being left speechless in the face of it. When it was done, he raced up the staircase in the hopes that he could actually catch up to Brandon.

* * *

For several minutes, he raced up the stairs that never seemed to end. It was a little dizzying to look to either side, an extreme sensation of vertigo overtaking him every time he did. Sam kept his focus on the steps, one after another all the way up. The stairs were slowly beginning to curve, he noticed. He acknowledged that it was difficult to tell if that was really what was happening, since there were no walls or ceiling to speak of to help him see if there really was a curvature. All he was going on was the individual steps he saw, as he raced up them.

Eventually, Sam began to grow tired. His body, having already gone through a lot, had little energy left to get him up very fast. Pretty soon, he was going to need to take a break if the stairs continued like this for much longer. On top of it, it was disorienting to have no walls to look at. Turning back, he realized he could no longer see the room he had come from. He was standing suspended in the middle of that nothingness that he so despised. Fear clutched him in that moment, like it had never clutched him before. For all that he had witnessed, all that he had encountered since arriving in Silent Hill, nothing compared to being here in this overwhelming darkness. His flashlight didn't really do him much good here, having little beyond the stairs that it could bounce light off of.

His pulse was racing and he was having a hard time breathing. Sam couldn't stand up on these steps any longer, fearful that his center of gravity was way too high and he was in danger of falling off the sides. Sitting down on the steps, he tried to get himself back in control, but couldn't. This was the beginning of a most dreadful situation; Sam was having a panic attack. There was no reprieve for him in this scenario, only him and the chasm. He sat there, his head between his legs, trying to contain himself and failing miserably.

All he could think about was how much of a failure he was. Nothing he did came to a good conclusion, just a series of fuck-ups that his idiocy had incubated into maturation. Sam Oliver wanted to just give up and let himself fall into that deep bottomless hole, so that he could just deal himself out entirely of this bullshit. Brandon was gone, his location completely unknown and Sam just knew that he had screwed that situation up permanently. There would be no happy ending, where he got his brothers out of here and took them with him back home. This was it, the end of his newfound family, before it even got the chance to begin.

He stayed there, sitting on those steps overlooking oblivion, for an eternity. His mind was consumed by his own self-pity, propelling him further into catatonic despair. Silent Hill had taken everything from him, his brothers, his innocence, and even his very humanity. There was no going back, there couldn't be. Sam was positively drowning in fear and sorrow, the surface he yearned for looking further and further away with each passing second.

How long he sat there, was a mystery. All he knew was that it didn't matter if it was a minute or a millennium; they bore the exact same value to him. The desire to leave this place and get back to some modicum of civilization grew stronger and stronger, as he sat there. The question was: did he deserve to escape? Was this the punishment he should emplace on himself, to wander this hell for the rest of his days in atonement? Sam could only think about how that burger was starting to sound pretty nice, just then.

After letting himself fester in depression for so long, he got it in his head to get up and continue his walk up the stairs. Sam stood up, careful to not overbalance and fall off the edge. He took a look at the steps ahead of him, counting over a dozen that were visible to him; the rest eluded his vision entirely. Starting up, he took it slowly and calmly, putting one foot in front of the other. The march up the rest of the way was long and more than a little exhausting, his body and his mind both at their limits of endurance.

When he reached the top, Sam stopped in absolute confusion. His path up the stairs ended abruptly, when he came to a door standing there in the open space with nothing visible on the other side. It was just a door and nothing else; he reached out and swung it open. It revealed a hallway, complete with walls, floor, and a ceiling. All of it was made out of that familiar metal grating, rusted thoroughly and looking like it wouldn't hold up a feather, let alone a fully-grown human being. Eager to put the purgatory of that infinite stairwell behind him, he stepped through and let the door fall shut.

The hallway was straight and narrow, stretching out before him into a darkness his light could not penetrate. Interestingly, he could see an outer layer of grating completely surrounding the corridor; it was tight and cramped, obviously some sort crawl-space. What it was for, he couldn't say. All he could tell was that there were no means of gaining access to it, none that he could see at any rate. Pressing on, he began walking down the hallway, hoping to find Brandon somewhere down this way.

After more than a few minutes of walking down the hall, he came upon a couple of doors. They were positioned opposite each other; their frames were of solid iron. He couldn't see the outer walls of either room, but given how he had just recently entered a door in the middle of an open space to get here, that wasn't entirely surprising. Sam first tried the door on the right, which led to a small room made entirely of slime-coated concrete. The room was completely empty, so he backed out and shut the door.

The door to the left led into a somewhat large room, containing a large metal desk pushed up into the far corner and a frightening collection of massive blades –the kind Pyramid Head wielded –set leaning against the wall next to it. In all, there were precisely seven of these blades sitting there. Looking at them made Sam paranoid, his mind filling itself with the notion that it could come here at any moment.

He quickly walked over to the desk and rifled through it, coming upon a manila folder of all things. Sam grabbed the document and poured through it, finding it to be a police report. His eyes first spotted Charlie's name, centering his focus on what it said about him. According to it, he was reported missing by staff from the Pleasant Valley Children's Care Home. Reading on, he learned that the report came in at 07:12 on the 17th of June, 1994, when the morning caretaker found his bed empty during morning wake-up call at 0:600. Apparently, the police responded quickly, but closed his case-file only eight days later. He was missing and presumed to have run away, an A.B.P. put out on him for that time-frame. No evidence was ever turned up in the investigation.

Sam furrowed his brow and thought back to finding Brandon's makeshift journal under the bunk. It had stated that he met Charlie in April or May of that year, just over a month before he vanished. A sick feeling in his gut manifested itself at the possibilities this information brought up. It lent credence to the Devil's statement that Brandon did something terrible to Charlie, a thought that sickened Sam even further. Closing his eyes, he cursed softly to himself, fighting the sting of oncoming tears.

He gave himself a minute, before setting down his pickaxe and shrugging off his backpack. The folder was shoved inside and the bag zipped back up. Sam put the backpack on again and grabbed his weapon. It was time to leave; he had taken too long in here, as it was. Exiting the room, he was subjected to a strange loud noise.

It sounded like someone was banging a stick against a large pipe, almost producing a rhythm with it. The sound came from everywhere, the floors vibrating slightly because of it. Tightening his grip on the pickaxe, he continued walking down the hall and kept his eyes peeled for danger. He made his way ever deeper down the passage, the sound accompanying him every step of the way. This went on for a great deal of time, the volume of it beginning to give him a slight headache. Sam kept his mind mercifully on his surroundings, shielding him temporarily from the awful weight of the truth shouting at him from the recesses of his mind. This march down the long hallway went on forever, the blandness of it annoying the hell out of him.

As time went on, he began to hear another noise, just barely audible above the pounding beat that had followed him along for the longest time. It was a perfectly measured pulse, sounding almost wet and making him think of a heartbeat. As he was walking, he started seeing movement in the shadowy exterior area of the corridor. Looking closely, he could see something thick and long running the length of the crawlspace. It pumped like a vein in time with the new sound, the look of it slightly nauseating him. Continuing further, he started seeing more of these bizarre tendrils attached to the outer shell of this odd tunnel, located on the floor, walls and ceiling. Soon enough, it was completely infesting the outer cage and the pulse it produced grew all the more louder. Sam eventually came to a large door, taking up the entire area of the wall at the very end of the passage. He opened it and stepped through, entering untold depths of this terrible nightmare.

* * *

The door took him into a massive chamber, with catwalks and platforms everywhere. An eerie orange glow was emanating from below, casting everything in a strange light. He found himself at the top of this cavernous space, a flight of steps leading down into lower regions. Sam took the stairs down, seeing that it made a ninety-degree turn at a landing about twenty feet down and continued going lower from there. A sound could be heard faintly, coming from somewhere below. It was vaguely electronic-sounding, like a strange buzz that was almost musical in nature. Following the sound was the only thing he could think to do, hoping that doing that would get him where he needed to go.

Eventually, the stairs bottomed out into a platform, a cat walk extending out from it and leading away from the outer edge of the space. He started along it, getting a glimpse of what looked like pillars of fire shooting out from somewhere in this dark stratum; it was the source of that odd light. Sam followed the walkway until it led him to the opening of a cement enclosure, the interior of which was pitch-black. Stepping inside, he found himself in a small room with three doors.

The first door was positioned to the left and the two remaining doors on the far wall. The door to the left, the one he was closest to, yielded zero results and he moved on to the next one. It didn't hold up much better, leading to an empty room. The last door was the one that he struck gold on. A staircase heading down was what he found on the other side.

The staircase was roofed and walled by concrete, a foul stench emanating from the narrow passage. He descended them quickly, anxious to get down to the bottom and find Brandon. It was a somewhat long trip, but only took a fraction of time it took to traverse the flight of stairs up through the abyss or the long hallway after that. The stairs opened out into a metal cage, another flight of stairs going down from the right-hand side of it. These stairs were encased by the same metal grating, taking him to an open platform with some sort of large pillar located in the center.

When he reached the platform, Sam saw that the pillar was actually an elevator shaft. Walking over to it, he pressed the call button and the door opened up. He stepped inside and checked the panel. Like the last two elevators he had come across, it only had up and down buttons on it. Pressing the down button, the doors slid shut and he began his descent. A faint thrill coursed through him; this was the end of the road, for good or for bad. It took a full minute to reach the bottom of the shaft, before the doors opened up.

A wide walkway stretched out before him, leading to a massive square platform with a large circular hole in the middle. Four gigantic poles were jutting up into the air from the four corners of the platform. The poles, he could tell, were the source of those great jets of fire. He could see them burning powerfully hundreds of feet above him. In front of the hole on Sam's side, the familiar form of Brandon could be seen facing away from him.

"Brandon!" he called out, hoping this would go well.

"Leave me alone! You lied to me!" screamed the boy.

"No, I didn't. Please, just let me talk to you!"

"No! I don't wanna talk to you! All you care about is him!" Brandon was facing him now, a deep scowl set on his young face.

Sam moved closer, lowering his voice, "I don't understand. Please, just tell me why you think that?"

"Everyone always liked him better. He was just a stupid orphan from day one and everyone wanted to be with him. My mom left me there and I was always compared to him; nobody wanted to be my friend. And now you want him instead of me. I hate him!"

"No, that's not true, Brandon. You're my brother and I love you, but he is our brother, as well, and I just wanted to make sure he wasn't lost here, either." Sam hoped that his words reached the kid, needed them to in a way he had never needed anything before.

"Oh, you say that now, but that would change. You would start liking him more and you'll just leave me somewhere like my mom did. Not that any of that matters anymore, since I took care of **Charlie.**" The mention of his brother's name was spat out in disgust.

"What do you mean, Brandon?" asked Sam, hoping and dreading the answer equally.

"You wanna know what I did to your precious Charlie!? I ate him!!!" Brandon screamed out in vicious satisfaction.

"W,What?" asked Sam, unable to wrap his mind around what had just been said to him.

Brandon continued, "that's right, I ate him up and he's gone from my life for good. You made me think you cared about me; I won't allow you to get away with that." With that, Brandon turned back to the hole and he let himself fall into it.

"Brandon, no!!!" screamed Sam, trying futilely to reach him in time and failing. Brandon disappeared into darkness and Sam's heart broke completely. He had failed him and now he was dead. Sam let the pickaxe drop from his hands, no longer caring if he encountered any opponents. On autopilot, he walked clumsily up to and around the circular hole, with no particular place he was headed. He briefly considered following his little brother into oblivion, not wanting to go on any further.

Just then, a deep rumbling could be felt in the metal grating, rising steadily in intensity. It was coming from below and heading his way. Sam tensed up, uncertain of what was coming. A sick yellow glow was pulsing out from the hole, spilling it's diseased light over everything it touched. He saw a hand reach up and grasp the platform, another soon joining it. He saw several more hands grip the edge of the hole, spanning the entire circumference. Soon, their numbers were uncountable and he took a step away from them. When the hands were grabbing all available surface space, they acted as one and pulled themselves up simultaneously. A twisted mass of flesh spilled out over the lip of the hole, a slew of arms that were poking out of it's folds in no discernible pattern went with it. All the new hands found purchase on the metal flooring and pulled, as well. More of that hideous blob came into view, rising like dough.

"B,Brandon?" he asked timidly.

In response, the thing let out a deafening roar. It sounded unlike anything he had ever heard. It shook his body violently and it made his vision go grey and everything receded to the background for a second, before fading back to normal when it stopped. Sam backed away several more feet, as the atrocious thing pulled itself up further. It began leaning in his direction and looked like it was about to fall over on him. Sam looked for a way to escape, seeing a short flight of stairs leading up to another platform.

He ran for it and took it up two steps at a time, getting thrown down when he reached the upper landing, as it crashed to the floor behind him. His world was spinning and he was momentarily stunned by the crash. Getting up to his feet, he ran away from the edge of this new platform, away from that amorphous monstrosity. Sam turned to see another set of stairs to the right, going up to a narrow walk way that hugged the wall. Seeing that it was his only option at the moment, he made for them as quickly as his legs would take him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his pursuer overtaking the small platform he was escaping, rapidly. It was pulsing and growing, being propelled in his direction by those wretched arms. If he hadn't been desensitized by everything Silent Hill had thrown at him beforehand, Sam would have most certainly been driven mad by the sight of it.

The walkway followed the wall for several meters, before making a right into the open space of the chamber's center. Platforms and staircases to other areas could be seen on the right-hand side, practically floating in position. His legs burning with an urgent fire, he threw himself toward the turn in the walkway and hoped that he made it. The sound of twisting and tearing metal almost pierced his ears with their high-pitched squeal. It was chasing after him, gunning for him with pure intent.

Sam rounded the corner and followed this new section of the walkway, passing a small flight of stairs up on his right. His goal was the long stairwell he could see that seemed to race up into the higher regions of this place. He was no more than thirty feet from them, when a number of those arms grabbed a hold of the railing and the thing that was once his brother was pulling itself up onto the walkway; the steel was twisting and bending under it's weight. Skidding to a halt, he turned back and ran for those stairs he had passed just a few seconds ago, trying to maintain his balance at the same time.

Taking them up, he found himself on another platform that stretched out to his left, with more stairs continuing up straight ahead. Sam ignored the platform and made his way up the next set of stairs. He could feel how close it was behind him, swallowing the path in it's putrid embrace. The grating shook and rumbled, as it consumed everything in his wake. Taking them up, he saw that they continued up across an open expanse and lead to a tower-like structure, with a series of open floors stretching up into darkness.

Below him, he could see how big that sick mass of flesh had gotten; it was stretching itself out in thick tendrils and grabbing onto whatever it could find. It was nauseating to look at, even out of the corner of his eye, and he choked back his own bile as he ran. The stairs began shaking violently, threatening to throw him off the side. Sam kept his balance and strained himself to go just that little bit faster, knowing that it was right behind him and close to catching up. Up ahead, the moorings that kept the stairs attached to the tower were starting to shake loose, coming dangerously close to pulling it free from the structure. It was only feet away; he could do it.

The moorings broke loose and the stairs started to list to the side, about to teeter over and fall. Sam jumped as far and high as he could, wishing he really **did** have a four foot vertical leap at that moment. He could hear the stairs groaning and buckling, just starting their rapid descent below. His fingers managed to find something to grab onto just off-center from the gap in the railing that the stairs had been connected to. The weight of his body almost dragged him from the edge and into oblivion. Sam looked down and saw that the staircase he was just on was dangling loosely on the far side of the chamber, the disgusting thing hanging with it.

Desperately scrambling for a better grip, Sam hoisted himself up, while he tried to find a toe-hold to brace himself up with. It took all his strength to get his body on solid ground and to slide himself forward, so that he could get to his feet. Not taking another second, he zoned in on the stairs leading up to the next level and ran straight for them. He was out of breath, his muscles felt like lead, and all the injuries he had acquired here, were all screaming at him to stop. But he could not do that; he had to keep going. The instincts that dictated survival, would not allow his own desire to die to take control, forcing him to run onward and upward.

The stairwell up was located in the far corner of the tower and ran up in a square-like shape. He ran up them as fast as his legs could carry him, all the while feeling the foundations of the structure shaking from somewhere down below. It had latched on to the tower and was racing up toward him, slowly eating the entire thing just to get to Sam. His heart felt like it was going to explode, his body driving itself upward with unknown reserves of energy. For what felt like an eternity, he raced up flight after flight of stairs and losing some sense of direction in the doing of it. The structure was rocking more and more intensely, with everything starting to shake apart. He definitely didn't have much longer to get to the top, not with how structurally unsound this place looked.

Sam, quite unexpectedly, reached the top of the tower and found himself on an open platform. A walkway was nearby that would take him to the outer edge by the wall. Suddenly, he was thrown to the floor and began sliding down the direction of the open space in the center of the chamber, the walkway he was gunning for was torn away. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the metal grating, barely managing to get the slightest of grips. Still, it was enough to keep him from sliding any further down to the edge. He got his feet under him and launched himself to the side and grabbed the railing. This was just done as the supports failed and the tower began to fall over, taking him with it toward that open area.

On the far end of the chamber, he could see another tower that looked completely infested. He didn't question why he didn't see the other tower when he was still further down and closer to the base, nor did he wonder at why it wasn't toppling over as his was. Sam didn't want to ride this thing all the way to the other side, fearing the consequences if he did. Looking around, he saw another platform about midway along. It was somewhere about ten feet from his falling platform and about twice that below, a long expanse to jump, he admitted, but he had no choice in the matter. Timing it as best as possible, Sam braced his legs and prepared to leap off the side –the difficulty of which was in the rapidly shifting angle of the floor underneath him. With a deep breath, he hunkered down and pushed himself off the edge and sailed through the air toward his intended platform.

Sam cleared the railing and smashed painfully onto the floor, rolling several times before stopping. It was that impact that kept him from springing back to his feet, his body in too much pain to make a serious attempt at it. His world whitened out and all sound faded away for a brief moment, before it rushed back into him like a vacuum. Everything shuddered at the impact of the falling tower against the one that the monstrosity had taken over. The sound of it echoed out through the enormous space, drowning out the thunder of his own heartbeat for a second. He started crawling away from the edge closest to the towers and saw the bottom landing of a set of stairs just mere feet away from them. Somewhere off to his left, he could see the uppermost corona of flame from one of the four pillars below.

Once he had pulled himself up the first few steps, he was able to finally get his right leg under him and stand up. His left leg was just about useless, but he was up and could make quicker progress again. He just couldn't afford to take that much time; his life was still in mortal danger. Reaching the next platform, he started limping over to the next flight up on the left-hand side. The abomination chasing him could be heard growing bigger and reaching higher and higher, closing in on him without reserve.

The dark and terrible rumbling of it's roar exploded through the air, his vision once more fading into a scratchy grey. He swore he could feel every cell in his body vibrating intensely in the wake of it's call. It went quiet once more and he continued heading for the stairs. Reaching the stairs, he suddenly felt the platform shake from impact. The thing that had once been Brandon had made it to the area he had jumped to from the tower, proving that he was still being closely hounded by it. Taking it a step at a time, he looked up to see something that frightened him to his very core.

It had stretched it's body like putty into a series of tendrils filled with all those strange arms and was reaching up the walls and slithering around catwalks and platforms everywhere around him. He had been so focused on the bulk of it that he hadn't been able to see what it was doing elsewhere. Sam was pretty much completely surrounded on all sides, his avenue of escape shrinking in at a shocking speed. Almost any hope he had left of surviving had gone out the window; the end was fast approaching.

Taking the stairs a step at a time –the best he could do in his present condition –Sam reached the next level up. The platform buckled violently and he was thrown again to the floor, rolling over once onto his back. He found himself staring at it head-on, it's arms reaching out for him in a sick attempt at a hug. Raising his arms up defensively, he braced for what was sure to come. In that moment where the fingers of the closest hand brushed against his clothing, it seized up and withdrew quickly.

He could feel it, the thrumming of his own power. It had saved his life earlier against Pyramid Head and he had tapped into it once more to do that very same thing. The monstrosity was being forced back until it no longer had a single grip on his platform and then it was thrown away into the lower depths. No sooner after it fell from view, did it let out another terrible scream, this one even worse than the others before it, his vision going almost completely black. When it passed, Sam rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up to his feet. Hobbling over to the edge, he looked out into that dark expanse and saw that the thing had fallen onto the fire on it's way down. An ugly burn mark mottled the flesh around the area that must've hit the flame.

Focusing his mind as best as possible, he tried to access his powers once more and reached out to the four pillars of fire. As one, all of the flaming jets shot like arrows into it's flank, scorching it furiously. The flames climbed up and out, consuming the flesh it touched. Sweat poured down Sam's face, his body pulsing with energy that burst out of him and flew straight for the fires. In relatively quick order, the flames licked ever upward around all the tendrils of it's mass. It then exploded in a bright powerful blast; Sam, having been driven to his knees by the intensity of what he was doing, was -for a moment -wreathed in flames. The atrocity against the natural order burned all around him like the fires of hell itself. A rain of ash began to fall down around him.

The fires burned through everything and ate away at the dark environment around him, changing the very composition of his surroundings. It was purifying the world, burning away the darkness that had infested this place. Sam let his arms fall to his sides and he bowed his head, exhausted and miserable. Nothing mattered anymore; he had killed his own brother. The Devil had tried to get him to kill someone once before, just to corrupt him. Back then, Sam had gotten around it, but now that circle was complete. Up until that second, the target of most of his hate was Satan, but now it was all focused in on himself. That was when he heard it, the sound of an infant crying.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: This is it, the final chapter. I really hope it doesn't suck.

* * *

Chapter 10: She Bought a Stairway

Burning embers continued to rain down around him, a stark beauty inherent in the spectacle they created. He could still hear the infant crying, unable to tell where it was coming from or how far away it was. But in that blazing inferno, the one he had manifested, all he could think about was that he had killed his own brother. Brandon had been twisted into some sort of monstrosity by his loneliness and his hunger for love, becoming a beast that ultimately had to be put down; that didn't change anything though. This place had won, Satan had won, and Sam could never undo what he had done here, no matter how hard he wished differently. Eventually, the fires started to burn out and were replaced by a thick choking cloud of ash, the blazing heat subsiding with it. A strong breeze swept through the area, carrying the ash away to unknown regions.

When it cleared, Sam found himself lying in a medium-sized concrete room, a full array of halogen lights burning brightly overhead. Looking across the room in the direction the crying was coming from, he saw a baby lying on the cement. It was wearing a diaper and a wrist band, it's little body writhing about in discomfort. Shocked by the sight of it, Sam tried to get to his feet and failed to even sit up. The pain was excruciating, bringing him fully back to reality. Something had to be broken somewhere in his body, a fact he was absolutely certain of just then. His ribs were killing him; every breath he took made him want to scream in agony. He could also feel something wrong with his left leg, that maybe it was broken too. Still, he needed to get over to that baby, his mind unable to reason why a baby was lying on the cement floor of this room.

Sam rolled himself over onto his stomach and pulled himself along the floor, using his good leg to push himself. Every inch forward brought him a whole new wave of pain, each one crashing into him overwhelmingly. He was out of breath and sweat was dripping from his face, but he couldn't allow himself to stop. In total, the trip across the room took at least a minute, his entire body too weak to do much else when he reached the crying infant. Sam reached out a shaking hand to the child and looked at was attached to the wrist. It was a hospital identification band and it read: Oliver, Charles David.

"Charlie," he whispered, his mind numb at the sight before him. Sam had utterly failed Brandon, something that wounded him deeply inside. But maybe, just maybe, he could have a second chance. "Hey there, little guy," he said, his voice scratchy and broken. Tears flowed down his face and he tried to take off his backpack, finding it too difficult to shrug it off his shoulders. He had to resort to unlatching the straps and letting the bag slide away. With that done, he unzipped his jacket and tried to pull it off. It wasn't easy in the least bit, his body unable to turn very much in his condition. After a few minutes of struggling with it, Sam managed to get the jacket off and he used it to wrap the little boy in. He had just enough energy left in him to curl his body around the child, before he lost track of things.

There was no way to tell how long he was there on the floor, using his body to shield the baby from the cold elements of the room. He had some awareness of his surroundings; it wasn't like he had lost consciousness completely. After a time, he started to hear a sound, almost like clapping. As the sound got louder, he realized that it was actually footsteps getting closer. There was no way he could protect himself or Charlie if it was a threat, not that he cared about himself so much then. But Charlie was an innocent and apparently his brother, meaning that Sam had to ensure his survival somehow. All he could do was pull himself even closer around the infant, who was thankfully quiet. Eventually the footsteps sounded so loud that whoever they belonged to must surely be coming up next to him.

"So did you find what you were looking for, Sam?" At first, the voice sounded unfamiliar, his mind trying to place it to someone's face and failing.

Suddenly, a set of feet entered his field of vision and he weakly lifted his head to see who it was. "Dr. Kaufman?"

"Yeah, it's me, kiddo," said the older man, crouching down in front of him.

"What are you doing here?"

"To bandage you up, it would seem," said Dr. Kaufman, reaching for Charlie.

Sam tightened his grip on the child, his instincts telling him to protect his own from a threat.

"Now Sam, the baby's going to be fine. I need to get at you right now, so please let me take him." He reluctantly let Charlie go and the other man moved him away to get better access to Sam. He pulled a large black canvas bag into view and gently moved him onto his back, delicately probing his various injuries. For his part, Sam was mostly able to keep from vocalizing his pain. Dr. Kaufman worked quickly and efficiently. "You did quite a number on yourself there, didn't you?"

"Not really my idea," said Sam, gritting his teeth in pain. Dr. Kaufman moved on to his left leg and started feeling it for a break, his touch gentle and sure. He had obviously had years and years of experience with this, something that he found a little comforting. After several minutes of silence, the doctor stopped and looked at him.

"Well, I don't think your leg is broken, but it probably is fractured. The cuts and scrapes shouldn't be much of an issue, except for that nasty gash on your forehead. That one will most likely leave a permanent scar, I'm afraid, as well as the one on your leg that you tried to stitch up. As for your ribs, I think you broke at least one, but you'll need to get an X-ray to be certain. The same goes for your leg, get it checked by someone with actual equipment." Dr. Kaufman started putting his things back in the bag, leaving some bandages out. "I'm still gonna need to wrap your ribs up, before we're done."

He cut Sam's borrowed shirt off, using a pair of scissors from his bag. The air was cold on his skin, but it felt good at the same time. It hurt badly to be forced to sit up, while his midsection was tightly bandaged. When it was finished, Dr. Kaufman put the last of his things away and stood up. "There, all done," he said.

"Could you give me a hand?" asked Sam, not feeling up to trying it on his own.

"Yeah sure," he said, doing as Sam had requested. Once he was on his feet, Sam turned to Charlie, who was sleeping soundly in his makeshift bed. Dr. Kaufman stepped in when Sam awkwardly tried to kneel down and grab the baby, while making sure he wasn't aggravating anything. Getting the sleeping infant to Sam, so he didn't have to make the attempt, Dr. Kaufman turned to leave and grabbed his bag. "Goodbye Sam," he said, "I don't ever imagine we will meet again."

"Goodbye sir," he said, before looking down at Charlie. His face was sweet and innocent, unblemished by the cruelty and suffering Sam had come to know very well. Sam didn't know if he would ever be alright again, but he would make certain that this little boy would be. He stood there for another minute, just holding his little brother and gazing at his features. Sam's body was battered, his mind fragile, and his spirit wounded; but in that moment, he felt a faint thrill of wonder at the sight of the baby in his arms. For awhile, he just let himself stay lost in that little bit of euphoria, before he managed to collect his thoughts together. He did need to get out of here, the urge to get home getting really strong.

Sam turned around and saw an open flight of stairs heading up to some unknown location. Before he tried to take them up, he grabbed his bag and held it by the top strap. His other hand was dedicated to holding Charlie, who was beginning to stir. It was very difficult to limp up the flight of stairs, especially since he didn't have any free hands to hold himself up with. Sam took his time in getting up, taking it a step at a time and giving himself plenty of rest between each one. Charlie began making a variety of small baby noises, getting his attention just as he reached a thick steel door at the top.

Looking down at Charlie, he said, "hey, we're almost out of here buddy," The baby gurgled in response and he laughed. "Good to know you agree."

The door led outside, opening out into a small meadow in the dark cluster of trees. He could see that the fog was starting to clear up, like a veil lifting off of the world and letting the light in unchallenged. It lifted away to reveal something that brought a brief chuff of laughter out of him. His car was sitting there not ten feet from his position, looking to be in pristine condition. All trace of it being in a crash was just gone, like it had never even happened. He started limping to the car, trying to keep his pace steady.

Sam reached the car and opened the passenger side door. Inside, he saw something of interest. Sitting in the middle of the backseat and hooked up to the restraint device, was a car-seat. A note was taped to the front of the object with something written on it. It read:

For the little one –D.

Resolving to buy a new one as soon as he could, Sam strapped him in, tangling clumsily with the straps and harnesses for a minute, and shut the backdoor. Popping the trunk, he slipped his backpack inside, noticing that all the luggage he had with him at the motel in Ashfield was packed neatly within it's depths. The Devil was really making things convenient for him, sparking a wave of paranoia in him that he couldn't shake. Closing the trunk, he settled himself in the driver's seat, his body aching in response to that action. Sam took a look back at Charlie, who was looking around curiously at his environment, and a ghost of a smile briefly visited his face. He started the car and drove down the path. It soon took him to a paved road, cars whizzing by him in both directions. Picking one of these directions, he pulled out into civilization and turned his back forever on the nightmare of Silent Hill.

* * *

The next five days went by in a blur, as he mechanically drove across the country as quickly and efficiently as he could. As it was, the only memories that were at all clear, all revolved around Charlie. He could recall limping his way into a Wal-Mart and shopping for whatever he thought he would need for the boy. For his part, Charlie was a content baby and didn't cry all that much. There was also the first time he had to change his diaper in a gas station rest room, a task he found incredibly difficult. By the end of the trip, the little boy had Sam firmly wrapped around his tiny fingers.

Sam, after that five day drive, pulled into the parking garage in his apartment building. Getting Charlie and his day bag, before taking out the crutch he bought for himself. He took the elevator up to his floor and slowly limped his way to his apartment. From out in the hall, he could hear voices arguing on the other side. Instantly, he recognized the voices of his friends and his girlfriend. They were discussing him.

"-don't care, Ben. He hasn't called any of us in almost two weeks now. Something's very wrong here and we need to do something about it." That was Andi talking.

Ben responded, "then what do you want us to do? Go all the way across the country to find him?

"If we have to, yes Ben, that is what I want us to do," she replied.

"Come on, guys," said Sock, "maybe we could talk to Tony, see if he can help."

Sam, hearing enough, opened the door and walked inside. The conversation stopped immediately upon his entrance, everyone else in the room staring at him dumbly. He merely closed the door and set Charlie in his car-seat on the floor. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he cracked it and took a nice long swig. "Hi guys," he said, trying to sound more nonchalant than he could possibly be.

"Sam?" said Andi. "you're back."

"And you're using a crutch," observed Sock, before turning his attention to baby Charlie. "Then there's the baby."

"Uh, yeah. That's Charlie. He's had a long day, so he's sleeping. If we could keep the noise to a limit, that would be appreciated." Sam took another long drink from his beer, before setting the bottle on the counter.

Andi rushed over that second and threw her arms around him in a tight hug, sending a sharp pain out from his ribs. "Ow," he said, "ease up, honey, getting' a little painful there.

"Oh," she said, letting him go. "Sorry." She leaned forward again and kissed him deeply and passionately, before slapping sharply across the face. "You had me so worried, thinking you were dead, or, or hurt, or something. I don't know. Why didn't you call? And what about the crutch? Are you okay?"

"Oh can we please get to the interesting stuff," interrupted Sock, "like what's up with the baby?"

Sam sighed, saying, "it's a long story and I need to tell Andi something first." Turning to her, he said, "can we talk somewhere in private?"

Seeing the look on his face, Andi frowned and said, "okay. What's this all about?"

"Would you guys keep an eye on Charlie? He's been sleeping for awhile now, but that's not gonna keep him down for long." Without waiting for a response, he turned back to Andi and said, "can we take this to my bedroom?"

"Uh, yeah, let's go." They went into his room and shut the door. He proceeded to tell her about the possibility of the Devil being his father and how his parents had kept it a secret. When he was done, Sam held his breath and hoped that she wouldn't walk out the door and never speak to him again. If that happened, he didn't think he would be able to cope with it. All his fears were unfounded, as she leaned over and gave him a hug at the end. Relief flooded his system, warming him inside deeply and completely.

"Sam, I'm not sure what there is to say to that."

"If you don't want to be with me anymore, I would understand." Sam really wanted to kick himself for saying that, as if by the act of saying it she would decide to agree and break up with him. Fortunately, that turned out to not be the case.

"I'm upset that you thought you couldn't tell me, but I'm not gonna break up with you. You're only in the doghouse right now."

Sam laughed a little at that, saying, "I never thought I would love being in the doghouse, but that makes me happy." Getting back to more serious issues, he said, "do you wanna go back out, so I can tell you about what happened to me?"

"Happened to you?" Fear flashed across Andi's eyes at hearing that.

"Come on, I'll explain out there." They left his bedroom, to see Ben and Sock crowded around Charlie's car-seat.

Sock turned to Sam and said, "now that you told her that you might have the coolest dad in the world, can you tell us who the baby is?"

"I told you, his name's Charlie and he's my brother." Collectively, the others' jaws dropped upon hearing that.

* * *

The next two weeks were hectic for Sam, with his new responsibilities to Charlie and returning to work (the kind that he got paid for). Fortunately, he was only put on light duty after a trip to the doctor confirmed that he had a fractured leg and one broken rib. No more than a few days after returning, he broke down and bought a pack of smokes at a gas station, not giving any thought to the fact that it was a pack of Marlboros he had pointed to at the counter. As it was, he had very little time to have another mental breakdown. That didn't mean that he was fine, far from it; every night he would come awake startled and certain that he was in extreme mortal danger. A few times, Sam would wake up screaming and wouldn't come out of it for minutes at a time. Those were the worst, as they always woke up Charlie, who was sleeping in his crib not ten feet from him. He had told his friends and Andi about being a triplet and that Brandon was dead, but left out pretty much everything else. The name of Silent Hill was never spoken, nor were any of his memories of that place shared. The others knew that there was much more to the story than he let on, but didn't press him about it. Even Sock, who was never known for his sense of limits and boundaries, only brought it up a few times.

Ben and Andi both knew the extent of his injuries, since one of them helped clean his wounds properly after almost a week without it being done, and the other was his girlfriend. He was grateful to Ben for not getting on his case about going alone, but Andi and Sock gave him the riot act after he told them that he had "gone to a very bad place" to get what he was looking for.

In the time he had been back home with his friends –no, his family –Sam got into the swing of things with caring for an infant. He wasn't sure how he was going to go about getting the paperwork together to make his guardianship of Charlie legalized, but figured he would find a way. Charlie, for his part, was an absolute angel, never letting him slide too far into his own inner darkness. That little boy was his only salvation, the one thing that let him know that his horrific ordeal might have been worth undergoing.

Concerning the events that occurred in that hell-hole, he always managed to bring himself back to them. In a way, he was still stuck in that disgusting purgatory. It wasn't hell, that he knew, since hell was supposed to be his ultimate destination and that was just not it. No, it was some sort of _in between _place, a junction connecting hell to earth through blood and fear. It was there, that place in the middle, where he was trapped like an insect in a pitcher plant. Sam wasn't sure if he would ever find his way out of that twisted maze.

He was currently sitting in his room, looking at that strange medallion he found in the hospital locker room (the mystery of it quietly rolling through his mind), with Charlie playing in the playpen that Sock got for him one day. Where Sock procured it from, Sam didn't really want to know, but he was extremely grateful for it, nonetheless. The closet door was slightly ajar, the backpack that had seen him through it all could be seen in the shadows there. In truth, there were still so many things left unresolved from his ordeal and he would still need to get closure on them, if he was to ever move on. For one thing, he still hadn't found any proof, one way or the other, if the Devil was his father.

Getting up, he hobbled over to his closet and pulled out the backpack. His fingers enclosed around the medical records file he found in the hospital, his knuckles slightly brushing against an unlabeled VHS tape that was lying forgotten inside. Pulling out the file, Sam set it on his desk and sat down. He opened it up and started to go through it, hoping to find something that would provide him with some avenue of investigation. His hope was to continue his search, this time with a little more caution in mind. Sam marked down bits and pieces he thought might be good places to start, organizing them on a blank sheet of paper. Nothing jumped out at him though, not until he was looking through the birth certificates. When he was reading them in the hospital basement, Sam got caught on the fact that he was actually a triplet and hadn't read any further. If he had, he would have seen the unfamiliar name listed as his Godfather. Reading the name a second time, he asked himself, "who the hell is John Winchester?"

_-fin_

_

* * *

_A/N 2: There will be a sequel to this that will only have Silent Hill in reference and not as a substantial crossover. Please R&R and let me know if you thought this was good or


End file.
